#The reason i keep putting off all the drafts in my library are a mystery to even me

[salmonight]

Batboyz casual interaction

I started drawing this in march i think? Then proceed to forget about it when it was almost finished... BUT! I picked it up and completed it in a whuuush. One less almost finished draft to sit in my library!

Also planning out commission details so as long as i solve a little problem its all good to go! Look forward to it! (I will get to it one day...)

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Hang on, I have an interesting (to me at least lol) thought about vamp! Rhys.

What the hell would he do with reader being on her period when she’s still human??

Am I asking this because I am on my period reading your vampire! Rhys fics… possibly… he’s just so hot 🫠and I wanna bite him affectionately lol💀

It’s a really good question in my opinion lol

This has been sitting half finished in my drafts and now I'm on my period and asking the same questions! But don't worry, I have some answers for you ;)

----------

Messy

Content Warnings: Fluff-SMUT-more fluff; Period Sex, Blood Play, Oral (fem receiving)

--------

You should have known something was up when Rhys had woken you up every morning for the last week with his fangs nipping at your throat, his sleep thick voice murmuring how good you smelled into your skin before taking the faintest of tastes. You write it off as him finally coming to terms with how he feels about you being human and embracing this new comfortability in your relationship, at first. But then you randomly catch him staring at you throughout the day, his gaze dark, pupils blown wide. He wouldn't do anything about it either. Usually, when he looks like that you find yourself flush against a wall, but these last few days he's just staring. Like he's waiting for something.

Then one night he asks you if you're in the mood for chocolate and comes back with a whole tray of ice cream and cookies and expensive looking candies and you're absolutely sure he's lost his mind.

You have half a mind to ask Mor if there's some weird dating ritual vampires have that you don't know about, because there's suddenly a lot more pillows and comfy blankets in your bed the morning after that. Along with a tray of some weird tea you've never seen before, and more boxes of chocolate things you can't name. But you don't even make it to Mor's wing of the house before Rhys waltzes into the bedroom you share with his arms full of towels and you simply cannot take it anymore.

"Rhys what are you doing?"

He takes his time folding them, studying each towel like it holds the mysteries of the universe within it. "Preparing."

"For what?" You ask incredulously, because he's clearly in on some secret you've never heard of.

He cocks his head to the side, looking very confused as to why you're asking. "Is it not almost your time of the month?"

That doesn't make his behavior any less confusing, but you run a hand through your hair in thought. It should be starting any day now, now that you think about it. "You've been keeping track of my period?"

He takes the perfectly folded towels and puts them under the bathroom sink for safe keeping as he says, "Of course. What kind of partner would I be if I didn't?"

You follow after him, still wildly confused. It's not like he can get you pregnant, there's no need for him to be keeping track. "But why?"

He frowns at that. "You were in a lot of pain last time, I wanted to help make it easier this time around."

Your heart clenches in your chest and you step forward to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "That's really sweet of you."

"I hate to see you in pain," he says, catching your face in his hands. "I don't really remember how the human body works, but I found some books in the library about what might help, since my blood didn't work last time."

He'd been very concerned about the amount of cramping you endured last month, even more so when it turned out Vampire blood was not in fact a cure all for every human ailment. It could fix a cold, but for some reason, it hadn't worked so well on your cramps.

Maybe it's your hormones, but you tear up a little at the thought of him rifling through the library trying to find the right book to help you. "That would explain all the chocolate and the tea."

"The books said they helped," he sweeps you up into his arms so he can hold you.

"What else did they say?" You ask as you kiss the tip of his nose.

He grins at that, eyes once again dark and hungry. "Ask me again in a few days."

That's never a good sign, but you'd be a liar if you said you weren't intrigued. He'd checked most of the boxes for your needs already, what else had he managed to find?

By the time you actually start bleeding, he's wrangled up every heating pad and pain reliever he can get his hands on. There's always a hot bath waiting to help you relax, and no shortage of pads stashed throughout the estate. He's hidden some in every desk and drawer he can think of, which pretty much means you'll never have to worry about it for the rest of your mortal life because he's not exactly sure how many of them you need, but it's the thought that counts.

By the second day, your cramps are so intense you can barely get out of bed and he stays dutifully curled up next to you, holding a heating pad at the base of you spine and massaging your tender hips like your own personal masseuse.

"Maybe today's the day, Rhys," you grumble into his bare chest. "I think I've had just about enough of this human thing."

He chuckles softly into your shoulder as his expert fingers loosen the tight muscles at the base of your spine. "That's not a very fun turning story."

"You've never experienced the pain of being a woman," you counter. "I think Mor would find it funny at least."

He kisses your shoulder, clad in one of his oversized shirts. "We still have a few things we can try before we resort to that."

"Such as?" You counter.

Rhys rolls you over onto your back, body sliding in between your legs. "I read that orgasms can help." His eyes are back to that dark, hungry look you've seen a dozen times in that couple weeks and it suddenly clicks in your head why he's been looking at you like that.

"That explains the towels," you say.

He kisses you gently at first, "Only if you want to, of course."

"At this point, I'll try anything," though you can't help the blush that works its way up your neck and face. You'd be a liar to say you hadn't thought about it, but you'd assumed this was too taboo a subject to discuss with someone so... old.

He's gone in a flash to grab the towels he'd stashed under the sink and back just as quick to lie them out across the bed, just so you don't ruin the sheet set that might just be older than you.

"You're sure you don't mind?" You inquire and he stills at the edge of the bed, giving you the same look he gives Cass when he says something out of pocket.

"I'm a vampire, Darling," he says, running his tongue over his canines so you get the point. "You should know by now how much I enjoy blood. Yours especially."

"Yeah, but this is-" You freeze as he kneels between your legs and starts placing soft kisses along the inside of your thighs. "Different."

One of his hands reaches up to push your shirt up your body, the other holds your legs open so he can move further up your thighs. "How so?" Fangs scrape over your skin in teasing strokes as he kisses higher and higher.

"You're not drinking from me," you start but a shiver works its way down your spine and steals the thought from your head as he brushes his nose over your clothed center. It is easy to forget how sensitive your body is during your period, and there is no denying how turned on you get when Rhys gets between your legs, but this time it feels different. This time, having him this close makes your body tremble, heat licking deep in the pit of your stomach. It usually takes some of his venom to feel this worked up, but there's none in your system yet.

"Aren't I?" He purrs, hands hooking in the waistband of your underwear.

You don't have time to ask before he starts pulling the material down your legs, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the heat that flushes your skin. There is no beat in time between him baring you to him and him pulling a towel beneath you, his inhumane speed making it feel like you blinked and were suddenly bare. It's not even a breath later that he's licking a stripe up your center and all rational thought eddies from your mind.

"Rhys!" You should want to pull away, should feel some sort of mortification when he looks up at you, eyes so lust blown they're almost all pupil despite the slight flush of red on his lips, but you can't find it in you to do so.

"Relax," he orders mind to mind as his tongue slides easily through your folds. "Let me take care of you."

Your eyes squeeze shut as he licks another long stripe up your center, canines scraping gently, teasingly against you. It's too much already and he hasn't done anything yet. Your hands reach for the sheets, trying to hold onto something, to ground yourself from rocking your hips into his mouth in desperation.

"Feels good?"

Your legs instinctively spread for him, body begging for more as you whimper for him. "More, please, more!"

He guides one of your legs over his shoulder, giving him a better angle to dive into you and feast, tongue pushing deeper inside you.

Stars swim across your vision, breath rasping out of you in panting gasps as your hands fly from the sheets to his hair to pull him closer. Your body is white hot, muscles tightening around his head as the pleasure builds deeper and deeper inside you.

When he slides a finger inside you, you can't help but buck your hips into his face, writhing against the pleasure that's too much and somehow not enough. His name is a prayer on your lips, pleasure making you delirious as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.

He has to keep an arm over your waist to keep you from writhing too far away, the strength of him only serving to fuel the fire in your belly more. This is about you and your pleasure, and gods is he good at it, but knowing you can't squirm away from him, can't do anything but accept what he gives you makes your thighs clench around his head.

He moans into your center as you tighten around him, letting you know he's enjoying this just as much as you are, despite the wetness you feel dripping down onto the towel beneath you. At least he had planned ahead for the mess.

"Rhys," the whole house can probably hear you screaming for him as he slides a second finger inside you, stretching you out and chasing the motion with his tongue.

"Just like that, Little One," he coos. "Cum for me."

You're aware you're babbling, thighs shaking around his head as pleasure sweeps through you, but you can't stop. Can't do anything but float on the waves of white hot pleasure that crest and fall down your spine. He doesn't stop his ministrations either, not even as you fight to catch your breath. His fingers and tongue still move through your sensitive folds, still curl against that same, spongy spot over and over again.

"Too much," you whimper, trying to wiggle out from beneath him.

His large hand flattens over your stomach, pushing you down hard enough to feel the mattress bow beneath you. You aren't going anywhere until he's done with you, 'til he's had his fill.

"Look at me," he orders, tongue swirling in a new pattern, teeth lightly nibbling on your skin.

There's blood on the tip of his nose, on his cheeks and chin; all traces of violet are gone from his eyes, only lust and hunger in its place. Usually Cassian is the messy one, but tonight, he lets a little of the monster slip.

"I want you to watch as you come apart on my tongue again."

You're pretty sure it's his powers that pin you in place, holding you upright as he speeds up his movements, gaze pinned on the way he devours you like a male starved. He has eaten you out plenty of times in the past, but the sounds he makes, the reverberations of his moans only amplify your pleasure.

The edge rises to meet you again, the over-stimulation cresting between pleasure and pain, the lines blurring as he suckles on your clit.

Stars once again blur across your vision as every muscle in your body tightens. The grip you have on his hair has to be painful, even for an immortal, but he makes no complaint as he nips and sucks and twists his fingers in a way that makes you think you might die if you don't cum soon. Tears make your vision cloudy, all your heightened emotions amplified further by how good he's capable of making you feel.

"So pretty like this," he purrs. "Love those sounds you make for me, when you moan my name like a prayer."

It's taking everything in you to not squeeze your eyes shut as you buck your hips as best you can against the hand pinning you in place. Just a little more. Just a little harder. You're so close to the edge again, so close to that sweet, sweet bliss.

"We should have done this sooner, don't you think, Darling?"

"Yes!" You practically scream it as he flicks his tongue at the same time he curls his fingers and your release barrels through you so hard and fast your body shakes against it.

You're absolutely boneless as he works you through it, dragging your orgasm out as long as possible with his fingers. Only when your ragged breathing finally calms does he remove himself from your core. He leans back on his haunches, face an absolute mess of blood and your release.

Despite the fact that he'd just been between your legs, you still find yourself blushing as he slides the fingers that had been inside you into his mouth for one final taste. "You really are my favorite meal, you know that?" His voice is still deliciously husky, the clear sign of his own arousal fighting the confines of his pants.

But this is about you, and making you feel better. So instead of doing something about it, he takes one of the towels you didn't absolutely ruin and starts to clean you up. When he's satisfied that you're clean, he disappears into the bathroom to start the tub.

He'd taken that time to clean up his face too, so there's no blood on his lips when he leans over the bed to place a gentle kiss on your lips. "Feel better?"

You'd managed to forget for the entirety of it that you had been cramping in the first place. "Much better."

He sweeps you up into his arms gently, like you're something fragile and breakable and it makes your heart clench in your chest. He has always been good at taking care of you, but it really hits you in this moment.

"I love you," you whisper as you lean up to kiss his cheek.

The water of the tub is deliciously hot, easing any lingering tension in your muscles as he gets both of you in the tub.

Rhys settles you against his chest, pressing gentle kisses against your forehead. "Still thinking about turning?"

You lean your head back against his shoulder so you can look up at him, eyes twinkling mischievously. "I think I want a little more mind blowing period sex first."

He chuckles as he settles back against the tub. "Good, 'cause those books had a few more suggestions we can try out."

[atlabeth]

fever - sokka x reader

this has been sitting in my drafts half finished for 3 weeks so i thot it was prime time i actually finished it

this is kinda based off the song w dua lipa and angele so you can listen to that if you want

summary: sokka's convinced there's a mystery illness keeping you from focusing, but somehow he's completely oblivious that the only 'sick' you are is lovesick, and he's the reason you can't focus.

a/n: i have never written a sickfic. but this is like. a fake sick fic. its an idiots in love fic. i mean this is coming from mr "is he taller than me? is he better looking?" himself so. it makes sense. as usual, this is not proofread bc im a lazy mf

also im sorry for being vague with the calc but i was NOT about to do math during summer who do you think i am? ??

wc: 1.7k

warning(s): mentions of being sick and 🤢calculus 🤮 but otherwise tooth rotting fluff

-

How could the smartest man you knew be so, so incredibly stupid?

You thought that you were being obvious, so obviously that you were sure he knew. It was embarrassing how obvious you were.

You had met Sokka in your calculus class at the start of the new semester after you ended up sitting next to each other, and it wasn’t a stretch to say that you were immediately smitten. With eyes like the ocean and a face that had to have been crafted by the gods, you were almost too distracted to respond when he asked you for a pencil. But when he winked at you after giving his thanks, it only solidified what you had already suspected: you had known this man for all of five minutes, and you already had a crush on him.

Little did you know, it was going to turn into the most infuriating crush you had ever experienced.

You and Sokka became fast friends even though calculus was the only class you had together. Unfortunately, it was also something that you completely sucked at. Bad news, it was required for your major. Good news, Sokka was some sort of genius and offered to tutor you — Wednesdays in the library turned into a weekly occasion, and served as an opening for your calculus skills, your feelings for Sokka, and your exasperation to all grow stronger.

You normally weren’t someone to beat around the bush. If you started to like someone, you told them and dealt with whatever happened after, but something about Sokka just kept you from spilling your feelings outright. You knew that if he didn’t feel the same way, your relationship likely wouldn’t change, but there was still that tiny voice that said it’s better to stay like this in case things do go wrong — and this was the first time you listened to that voice. You simply valued your friendship too much.

But that didn’t mean you were going to be completely quiet about it — you hoped that if you did enough, he would be able to realize you liked him and do the whole process for you. A bit of a dim hope, but crushes make people do stupid things.

Things like bringing an extra coffee to every session, laughing at all his jokes (even the bad ones), sitting a little closer to him than usual, not dropping out of this wretched class so you could spend time together (it might’ve been required, but you still counted it). He didn’t make a point to object to anything, so you knew you weren’t making him uncomfortable — but you had concluded after nearly a whole semester of working and studying together that he was the most oblivious person in all of Ba Sing Se. He could teach you all kinds of formulas, but had no idea that you liked him. Grand.

Today was arguably the most important session out of any of them, seeing as your next class was the final, so it was only fitting that Sokka unknowingly made himself more interesting than any material you could’ve been working with. His arms were going to be the death of both you and your calc grade. You swore that the heat rushing to your cheeks was actually emanating off of you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sokka grinned as he saw you and raised a hand in greeting, a sentiment you would’ve returned had it not been for the coffee cups in your hands. You settled for mirroring his grin and settled down in the seat across from him. You slid his coffee cup over, set your own down, then shrugged your bag off all before taking a seat.

“You ready to study ‘till your eyes bleed?” he asked, prompting a nervous laugh from you.

“You jest, but my eyes might actually start bleeding depending on how long we go,” you sighed. “There’s a reason I got an extra shot of espresso today.”

“Come on — by now you should know that you have nothing to worry about! I am the best teacher there is, and you got me all to yourself.”

Your eyes widened momentarily and you coughed, purposefully averting your gaze to give yourself some time to recover. Okay, he was going to make it really hard to focus today. “Let’s just get into it.”

He nodded and flipped open his notebook, beginning to talk as he rifled through his bag for a few extra things. “Okay, we’re just gonna start with going over the basics, then we’ll work our way up. There’s a couple practice problems on that page, so you can go ahead and answer those as a warmup.

You slid the notebook over in front of you and after approximately five seconds of looking at the first problem, found yourself studying Sokka rather than the material. Who could blame you? In the battle of cute tutor boy versus calculus, he was going to win every time.

He turned around and you immediately averted your eyes once again, trying to appear extremely involved, but you found that your mind was empty on anything to do with math. “Hey, uh— how do you do this first one? I’m totally blanking here.”

“We use limits in everything — this is actually something you’re really good at!” He studied you intensely and frowned. “Are you okay? Like, you’re not sick or anything, are you? You seem kinda out of it.”

You choked out a laugh and shook your head. “No, no — I’m fine. I guess I’m just a little tired.” As if to demonstrate your lie, you took a sip from your coffee and cringed internally. Love had turned you into an idiot.

He seemed to buy it as he nodded and picked up the pencil, scribbling a couple of notes as he explained the first problem to you. “Does that make sense?” You nodded and he handed the pencil back to you. “Okay — the other ones follow the same kind of process. It should be easy enough.”

You managed to get a little further in the second problem, but your lovestruck mind would not stop focusing back on Sokka every time you tried to do, well, anything. Curse him and his perfect arms, and eyes, and hairstyle, and everything.

You shook your head and set the pencil down once more, letting loose a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Yes, you did. “I just can’t focus at all.” Because of you. You picked up your cup once more and took a sip, hoping it would do something to get you back into the math state of mind.

Sokka frowned once more as he put the back of his hand against your forehead. “God, you’re hot.” You nearly choked on your coffee as your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets — he had to know what he was doing by now — how could he not? “Like, you’re completely burning up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I swear— I just…” you set your cup down on the table and heaved a sigh that was a touch more exasperated than necessary. “Are you telling me you seriously haven’t noticed? Like, not a single thing this whole year?”

“I’ve noticed a lot of things this year,” he chuckled. “It’s kind of our whole job, so you’re gonna have to be a lot more specific.”

You finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Sokka, I’m not— I’m not sick! Haven’t you noticed that I’m only ever flustered, or running into things, or forgetting info, or— or just a complete idiot when I’m around you? I like you, like, a lot, and I have for an embarrassingly long time! The reason I can’t focus is because I am hopelessly attracted to you in every single way.”

His brows creased for a moment and you clamped your mouth shut, worried that you had just ruined everything. It was only after a pause that felt like a century that he finally responded, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Well, why didn’t you just say something?”

You stared at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in pure surprise before the annoyance set in. You set your jaw as your brows furrowed and you hit him lightly on the side of his arm with the back of your palm. “You can’t be serious! You— you’ve gotta be messing with me by now. I really can’t believe that you can be that smart but this oblivious!”

He finally let the grin play across his lips in full force and he shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, I don’t know how you don’t expect me to mess with you when you scrunch up your face all cute like that every time you get mad. Besides, I started liking you after that fifth class; I offered to help you out so I could spend more time with you! I didn’t realize you felt the same way. I kinda just enjoyed the free coffee and getting to look at you all the time.”

“I can’t believe you!” you cried as you hit his other arm. “You’re telling me that I had to deal with this- this mental turmoil about whether you liked me back, while you were just enjoying the free eye candy and coffee the whole time?”

“You have nothing to worry about! I enjoyed the company far more than the coffee,” he joked, a certain twinkle in his eye. “But, you are probably out a couple twenties after all of that. So, what do you say about this Saturday, the cafe by the shoe store? My treat.”

“Damn right it’s your treat,” you shot back, though you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your face. “You owe me a lot — you have to make up for those coffees and all the emotional distress you caused.”

“Oh, I think I’ll have plenty of time to make up for lost time. After all, we do have a lot of coffee dates to get through.” And when he winked at you just like that first day, you remembered just how impossible it was to be angry at Sokka. “But first, we kinda have to get through this study date. The final’s still happening tomorrow.”

You responded with a raised brow. “This is a study date?”

Sokka shrugged and grinned. “They’ve all been study dates. You just didn’t know it.”

-

idiots in love idiots in love idiots In LOVe

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

atla: @marianne1806

[mistaeq]

the stardust crusaders' hogwarts adventure: HCs

tw // none

dora's note: is this dora posting? what the hell? yes it is, i'm finally working. hopefully. i promise i'm doing by best yes ^^ i felt like doing this today, so... finally got to finish a draft that has been there for quite a while.

DISCLAIMER !! y/n is NOT a student in joseph's HCs, they're a GROWN ADULT with a JOB. !!

taglist: @fragolaaaaaaa @outofthiszawarudo @sky1mercy @cheemerthebebopfreak @berryvalentine @yandere-lovebites @catboy-kira @komaeda-kinnie [if you wanna be removed or added, all it requires is a dm or an ask !!]

kujo jotaro

♥︎ when he first sat down under the sorting hat, he didn't know what to expect and did not care in which house he would have ended up. everyone in his family, though, always had been one of two precise houses: slytherin or hufflepuff. so, very deep down, he hoped in one of them. but a different one would have been cool with him too, he would have been the first in his family with a different house sorting. he waited for a time that seemed neverending, but earlier than expected, the sorting hat said: "slytherin."

♥︎ the two of you met for the first time during a quidditch tournament. jotaro was a seeker, one of the most precise ones hogwarts had ever had. you caused him an accident, running over him with your broom, causing the two of you to fall to the ground. needless to say, he held a grudge on you for several days, until you had to get along to train for quidditch again.

♥︎ you wouldn't expect it from a wizard like him, but his favourite subjects are care of magical creatures, to study them, protect them, and get on an empathetic level with them, and muggle studies, to get to know more about muggles, in honor of his father, kujo sadao, who's not a wizard.

♥︎ it didn't take long for jotaro to manage to manifest his patronus. he had tried to practice that spell, since before the arrival of the dementors at the school. the two of you used to practice together after quidditch trainings, making you the first person - apart from him, of course - to witness the awaking of his patronus: a beautiful dolphin, a symbol of intelligence and protection.

♥︎ you will probably have to be the one to ask him first out on a date. he's not the best one when it comes to grades, and he spends quite a lot of time with his friends, trying not to think about it. no, he doesn't really care about having the best marks. you should ask one of his best friends, kakyoin noriaki, about what to do to convince him to go out on a date with you. most likely, he'll say yes because he trusts you enough to feel safe.

♥︎ jotaro does not underestimate your powers and doesn't feel the need to constantly protect you, but he must admit that as soon as the teachers of defense against the dark arts start disappearing every year or try to attack the students themselves, he's a little bit worried about you. he starts showing up outside your classroom at the end of every lesson, to check on you and keep you company until you get to you next lesson's classroom.

kakyoin noriaki

♥︎ when he sat down under the sorting hat, he was really nervous. what if it said that he wasn't even a wizard? what if he ended up in a house that would have disappointed his family? the redhead was shaking like a leaf, even at the point that the sorting hat itself asked him to calm down to allow it to examinate him better. noriaki's terror soon disappeared, as soon as the hat spoke. "okay, okay, my guy. you can calm down. ravenclaw!"

♥︎ the two of you met for the first time in the library of the school. you were looking for a specific book, the one about the fantastic beasts of the wizarding world and where to find them, when a guy who wasn't looking where he was going, hit the ladder you were standing on, making you fall, right... in his arms. ugh, that sounded like a pathetic love story beginning. until you heard a giggle from the corner of the room. the guy that was making fun of that scene was kakyoin.

♥︎ noriaki's favourite subjects are transfiguration, since he always says he has a talent in transforming objects in what he wants, and defence against the dark arts, since he wishes to become a professor one day. why is it related to that? well, since the professors of defence against the dark arts seem to change every year for some reason, his turn will come sooner or later, or not?

♥︎ for kakyoin, it was a little bit more complicated to manifest his patronus. he kept on focusing on the technique and the way he had to move his wand, instead of focusing on his inner power and mind. but after many efforts, it finally showed up: a beautiful fox, symbol of wisdom and guidance. he told you first thing.

♥︎ noriaki will probably be the one to ask you out for a date first. but he would do it through a letter. he's smart enough to write one that will convince you that he's worth it and that he's perfect for you. the redhead can't imagine you already think of him as such. either way, the letter will be very sweer and heartfelt, even if a little bit awkward sometimes. but you'll say yes regardless, he put a lot of effort in it, and has always been respectful towards you.

♥︎ he wouldn't be much worried about you at first, hogwarts is a safe place for the students, after all, right? right? oh, what? in a bathroom the little hermione granger almost got killed by a troll? you know what, nevermind? the guy is gonna be glued to you the whole time, he'll even skip lessons for it, despite how much they mean for him. you're not gonna get attacked by anything, with him by your side.

muhammad avdol

♥︎ everyone envied him when he sat down under the sorting hat, because despite the young age at the time, he looked absolutely calm and collected. he had no anxiety, and his eyes were closed, in complete relaxation, as if him and the sorting hat had some sort of mental communication going on. his smile was endearing, his fingers intertwined in front of his chest. but the hat seemed to take a lot of time sorting him. "your heart said gryffindor, my dear boy. but your soul spoke hufflepuff to me." the hat declared. but then... "hufflepuff!"

♥︎ the two of you met for the first time on the stairs. yes, the ones that like to change. your books had fallen from your arms on the stairs, and since he was passing by, he decided to lend a helping hand. what you didn't notice, was that you were standing right between the stairs and the floor. when the stairs changed, hadn't it been for muhammad's quick reflex of pulling you on his side, you would have probably fallen down several floors.

♥︎ avdol is naturally gifted, when it comes to subjects like astronomy, or his favourite one, divination. he seems to be the only student who doesn't stare at mrs. trelawney as if she were completely crazy. the majority of the ravenclaws, his friend noriaki included, sometimes don't even listen to her. but avdol does, and he's completely in love with the subject.

♥︎ it hadn't been difficult at all for avdol, to manifest his patronus. almost natural, for him. you weren't there to witness it, but you studied and practiced with him for it several times. the last time he tried, a beautiful and graceful phoenix escaped muhammad's wand, symbol of resurrection and life after death, a patronus that the student took as a symbol of hope.

♥︎ none of you two will ask the other out for a date. the love between you and avdol would bloom spontaneously, without the need of dating. you would find yourselves behaving like a couple just naturally. he likes to give you tarot readings and to stargaze with you. the stargazing sessions are the ones that get the two of you closer to each other.

♥︎ avdol would be protective over you since the very beginning. he can sense something's off in the school, and his tarot readings about hogwarts's future keep getting darker and more mysterious everytime. but every single reading hints at an upcoming source of danger, that most likely would be voldemort, he supposes. he has to keep an eye on you. he's scared.

jean pierre polnareff

♥︎ oh boy, this guy was mad nervous when he sat down under the sorting hat. everything but slytherin, everything but slytherin. surely, he knew he wouldn't have ended up in ravenclaw. he wasn't that much of a smart guy, but he did his best. either way, everything would have been cool to him, apart from slytherin. it just didn't sit right to him. but luckily, before jean could ask the sorting hat why was it taking so long, it spoke. "okay, okay, i get it. gryffindor, no doubts!" it said, making the young wizard feel relieved.

♥︎ the two of you met for the first time while he was trying so hard to find his way to the next classroom he had to be in. the school was huge, and polnareff couldn't help but to get confused in the corridors. you offered him your help, but he tried to play it cool, running away and dropping a book. well, you would have brought it to him.

♥︎ polnareff's favourite subjects are charms and flying. they're pretty basic, but he finds them the coolest things about being a wizard. he's a huge fan of quidditch too, but he wouldn't see himself playing. flying lessons give him the same feeling of freedom though, and he loves it so much.

♥︎ it took pretty long for jean pierre to manifest his patronus. he just couldn't focus enough. you've been practising with him, and you manifested it first, so it would have been good to try to help him. until he managed to do it. from his wand, a beautiful horse was freed, a symbol of power, independence, freedom, and nobleness. you could tell jean was satisfied, and grateful to you for helping him in manifesting it.

♥︎ he'll definitely be the one to ask you out first, probably not much time after you helped him to manifest his patronus. that event made him so happy and made him grow so fond of you, that he genuinely wants to improve your relationship, and hopefully, get something more from it. hopefully your heart, hopefully a kiss. but he means it genuinely. he's not trying to exploit you to get your help with assignments. for real.

♥︎ as the years go by, polnareff would start noticing hogwarts isn't the same place that it's always been, or that dumbledore claimed it was. he grows more and more protective of you, every year a worse mess happens, and it's always connected to voldemort. he's not liking it at all. not to mention you're worried, since the gryffindors seem to be pretty involved in it. more than you and jean pierre like to admit. he knows something he's not telling.

joseph joestar

♥︎ in his youth, when he sat down under the sorting hat, he didn't give a shit of what house he would have been sorted in, all he wanted was just start learning magic stuff. joseph was laughing with some handsome boys and pretty girls at the table, and was hoping it wouldn't take long to sort him, his adventure had just started. but the hat actually took really little time to figure out where he was gonna go. "slytherin." it announced, almost immediately.

♥︎ going through the corridors of hogwarts reminds him of many years ago, when you first met. he would never forget the way you told him to go fuck himself, while he was just standing on a chair, reminding everyone that him and his best friend of the time, a young lucius malfoy, were the best kind of wizards because they were purebloods. that was a bunch of bullshit he truly used to believe. luckily, he grew up to understand it wasn't true.

♥︎ now, joseph is a teacher. the last student you would have expected to become one, but he did. a teacher of defense against the dark arts, and he's not planning on leaving anytime soon. he'll keep his eyes open, he heard teachers have been disappearing every year. not to mention a lot of scary stuff is happening at hogwarts. he didn't choose a good time to work.

♥︎ he's always been a quick learner, and he managed to manifest his patronus quicker than many of his classmates. a really cool eagle, a symbol of truth, majesty, strength. despite his attitude, it was clear that joseph was a good wizard, it had to be given to him. and you grew to be into it. to admire it. he secretly liked you, too.

♥︎ joseph took the first step towards you, but he didn't quite ask you out, let's say that to keep his cool, he TOLD you that you and him were gonna date. as if to announce you. you were okay with it, and didn't accept just because you were feeling forced. you accepted because you liked him, and recognized it as a great opportunity to get closer to him. you would have worked on improving the romantic field throughout your relationship.

♥︎ now that he's a teacher, he has to recognize that there's so much going on, that the students do not see. joseph is acknowledged about how dangerous the situation is getting, and more than ever, he reaches out to you, or phones you, no matter the fact that you're working. everyone is talking about voldemort, and he doesn't like the smallest bit of it. he just wants to make sure you're safe.

[furubaa]

Notes on Mushishi - Vol 1 & 2

This is the start of my personal notes on every Mushishi chapter (anime ep # in brackets). I’ve reread the manga over and over again looking for specific stories, so this is just for easier reference. 

VOLUME 1

1 - The Green Gathering (S1E1, The Green Seat)

Ginko learns of a boy who can create life by drawing or writing and decides to pay him a visit 

“The green here is so vivid it’s eerie”

A personal invitation to a banquet, presented with clear sake in a shallow green saucer - the exquisite scent of kouki, the water of life. 

The dull pain of being frozen mid-transformation, one foot out the door; realisation of emptiness, and yearning for a full exit from the world

Color seeping out of an untouched brush; power passed down the generations

Everything covered in moss where the kouki soaked in the ground

2 - The Soft Horns (S1E3, Tender Horns)

Ginko is summoned to cure villagers from hearing problems caused by Mushi, and to cure the village head’s grandson Maho, who has sprouted four horns on his forehead.

A quiet village deep in the mountains where even the wind does not pass; absolute silence on snowy nights, when even the sound of your voice disappears.

Bombarded with a flood of sounds, the spirit tires, and body weakens til death. The murmuring of a single Mushi is a microscopic sound, until made aware of the trillions of Mushi clamouring all over the world, calling to each other like echoes.

An intimate gesture of protection - the sound of your mother. A volcanic eruption seen long ago. The lava inside of you, dissolving everything.

3 - The Pillow Path (S1E4 The Pillow Pathway)

Ginko pays a visit to a man named Jin who has premonitions in his dreams as a result of a Mushi affliction caused by Imeno no Awai. 

4 - The Light in the Eyelids (S1E2 The Light of the Eyelid)

Ginko visits a girl named Sui, who is suffering from a Mushi affliction that has made her eyes sensitive to light.

“Behind your eyelid you have another eyelid.” 

There's a river of light flowing underground that illuminates even the pitch black; there has to be total, true darkness to see it. “Light particles come from very far away/ and they flow past me.” “Stretching out for eternity at your feet”

Ginko sitting on the opposite side of the river bank; a warning from a stranger.

“You spent too much time in the dark with Sui” ... Mushi that breed in the darkness. 

5 - The Traveling Bog (S1E5 The Traveling Swamp)

Ginko is traveling through the mountains to see his friend, Adashino. Along the way, he meets a girl named Io, who lives inside a swamp that is capable of moving by itself.

Ginko finding himself travelling in step with a swamp that sinks into the earth and then floats up over and over again, passing through the mountains

A girl sacrificed to save her village from a flood, wearing ceremonial robes; a bride presented to the water god, pushed off a cliff in a storm.

A large green thing that calmly rose up through the raging water; swimming at the bottom of a river that was overflowing its banks. It said, “You should continue to live.”

“When people drink them, their bodies become transparent... and then, they flow away.” Choosing to become Mushi is to exist between life and death; slowly wearing away at your human heart.

Following the journey of a ten thousand year old swamp to its death; moving towards the sea, the dying form of a liquid mushi. Accompanying it on its final journey.

“Swamps are born, eventually they stagnate, and when the universe they have contained within themselves ends... they get up on their own and start to move.”

VOLUME 2

6 - The Mountain Sleeps (S1E11 The Sleeping Mountain)

While traveling, Ginko passes through a town settled near a mountain. He learns that a Mushi Master is living on the mountain, but hasn't visited the village for quite some time, and every person who had been sent to find him has fallen ill and died.

“A smell both sweet and rancid that rises from the ground and touches each leaf. One by one. Coiling around them and choking their skin. A light vein, where the river of light flows.”

Ginko tapping into a mushi that acts as the mountain's nerves, sinking their wills into the plants and running around. 

“The water of life (...) Women bear children like cats or dogs; twins, triplets, or even quadruplets, abandoned in the mountains.”

A travelling Mushishi who puts his roots down. The one he loves committing an unforgivable act so that they can be married. Assuming the role of a slain mountain boar god; his bones will lie here. 

An aged man, summoning an immortal spirit to take his place of guardian forever - a necessary sacrifice to return the world to natural order.

7 - The Sea of Brushstrokes (S1E20 A Sea of Writings)

Ginko comes to a house which has a library full of mushi-related scrolls. There, he meets the girl who writes the scrolls, and hears the story of the curse that has been afflicting her family for generations.

A large dark crypt; an enormous library of scripts recording ancient history

Scribes cursed with immobility and marked for death, the only way to quell the Mushi is to seal them with words. A tradition of inviting travelling Mushishis to feed the writers myths in order for them to expel their words, physically manifesting them, an excruciating process for survival of self - and if not, the survival of your descendants. Plucking words and returning them to order, duty. Little by little, a receding scar. 

8 - They That Breathe Ephemeral Life (S1E6 Those Who Inhale the Dew)

Ginko's services are requested by a boy named Nagi, who lives on a distant island, to investigate the case of Akoya, a girl revered by the people as a "Living God".

A brief moment during the spring tide is the only time you can get to the island; only safe one day per month to take a boat out. a barren island with little soil, villagers surviving with moral support from their god. 

Tapping the center of the forehead with a needle, a curlicule of a mushi spiralling out

“When i was the Ikigami and aged when the sun set i could always shut my eyes and fall asleep feeling satisfied (...) But now my legs tremble at the immense amount of time ahead of me.” Living Mushi's life cycle of a single day - every second of every day experienced fresh, so much wonder you can't keep up. “My heart was always satisfied.”

When faced with tragedy, the girl finally chooses to return to the state of suspension - the luxury to forget and detach from mortal burden.

9 - Rain Comes and a Rainbow is Born (S1E7 Raindrops and Rainbows)

Ginko encounters a man named Koro, who has a strange habit of pursuing rainbows, and helps him find one particular rainbow that he is looking for - the Kouda.

A father delirious for rain - a strange man running around happily, and a mysterious rainbow dancing in odd shapes. A body that thirsts - “I miss that rainbow so much… I can’t stand it.” 

A boy who runs away to escape the burden of a dying father; to prove his worth and his father’s.

Ginko who must travel constantly, taking a break by finding purpose in small goals - You can’t live only for the sake of living; rest is essential. 

A natural phenomena created from light and imbued with kouki - “There's a reason they occur, but they have no purpose - existing only to keep flowing. Nothing can affect them, but they affect those around them, and then they leave.”

* 10 - The Veil Spore (S1E21 Cotton Changeling)

A couple summons Ginko to investigate their sick child, Watahiko, who has developed green spots all over his body. The father explains that the child didn’t look human when born - instead, it was a strange green mass that swiftly escaped. A year later, he found a baby under the house.

A wedding procession that passes through a forest - “A green stain on my cotton wedding gown.” A boy born green and formless, that slipped out and under the house. The main body; a mat of spores spreading under the house, dirt that wriggles under the sun.

One year later, it sends out a human-mushroom; every half year, the same child born again and again. Harmless children joined together at the root, that exist only to collect nutrients, that die and spit out seeds. “Mushi that wear the skin of your dead child.”

The human instinct to kill everything we don’t understand.

A baby with a body that grows faster than the mind. Children that evolve rapidly - “After learning words i forgot how.. I forgot how.” The primal instinct for survival lost. The cost of intelligence.

The Watahiki, when faced with danger, disconnects its children from the root, in an attempt to save at least the seeds - the children change form and enter a long dormant period.

An organism that strays from its recorded life cycle. 

Not that I’m doing this for public consumption (who even is going to read all this) but anyways FYI I’ve got structured notes on the next volumes in my drafts & if I ever get round to finishing all of them they’ll be tagged as #mushishi notes 

[twdbegins]

A Place to Stay

__

Simon x Nonbinary Reader

Warnings: Language.

Requested by: @the-schizotypal-cryptid

A/N: ALL MY DRAFTS ARE POSTEDDDDD EXCEPT FOR ONE COMING ON DEC. 2

Prompt: Could you consider doing a small story where Simon has to show the “newcomer” around the saviors camp? Only thing is, the newcomer isn’t staying.they own and manage their own self-sufficent camp and are only looking to provide for the Saviors so Simon has to be on best behavior. The .....reader? Is very, very quiet and Dark Academia like, yet for some reason likes Simon’s personality (and offers him a home on their camp- to keep him from getting in Trouble with negan.) basically Simon turns big- fanboy for this intimidating intelligent character. Could you use gender neutral terms? Like (they/them.) thank you for considering!! Have a great day! :) 

Word Count: 2,176

“Okay. So, what do you do around here that gave you the honor of giving this tour?”

__

They had immediately caught his attention. The moment he was tasked with showing them around the Sanctuary and getting them acquainted with the place, he knew something was special about them. He couldn’t quite place it yet, but he knew the question would be nagging at him until he figured it out. They were much more quiet than the people he was accustomed to. They weren’t like the loud, rowdy saviors that always had something to say at every moment of every day.

They were reserved and typically only spoke when spoken to. He knew right off the bat that they were also much more intelligent than the people he identified himself with. They weren’t much of a fighter, but they could persuade and talk themselves out of almost anything. They were mentally sharp and extremely quick when it came to verbal interaction.

They stumbled upon the Sanctuary by accident. They were curious to see what exactly was going on, because it had been awhile since they had seen such a large establishment. Who in the world had the nerve to attempt to run a place like this? Their question was quickly answered when they were caught by none other than the leader himself. Negan was an intimidating guy. They wouldn’t deny it in any way. Negan was intrigued by this mysterious person that had wandered to his precious camp. Their quietness and reservation from speaking was refreshing to him, because it seemed like everyone was always wanting to talk back to him. 

Before they could protest, he had ordered Simon to show them around the Sanctuary to get them situated. It was Negan’s official “grand tour” of the Sanctuary where they would be able to see most of the ins and outs of how things operated. Truth was, they wouldn’t be staying long. They had their own camp not too far away. As a matter of fact, their camp was a bit more satisfactory and successful than the Sanctuary. Although, they had no intention of telling Negan this. 

They were instantly attracted to Simon. Which was strange considering that they typically weren’t into the loud, strong men who were bursting with boisterous personality. They couldn’t explain it, but they were so drawn to his charisma and the way he interacted with them. They immediately had the intentions of providing these so called “Saviors” when needed. Negan surely needed more allies, so they couldn’t imagine him saying no. Their heart began to flutter at the thought of being able to see Simon on a regular basis. 

“So, here’s the main kitchen. There’s another one on the other side, but between you and me; this one is always cleaner and much more preferred.” He explained, leaning against the doorway as he watched them take a gander around the room.

They hadn’t seen a full and functional kitchen in God knows how long. They definitely needed to get Negan on their side. Simon watched as they shuffled around the room, running their hand on the countertops and gazing at all the appliances. 

“This might be a redundant question, but where are you from? You never said.” He questioned. 

They turned their attention back to him. This was the first time they had fully looked at him. He really was handsome now that they were actually looking at him. He himself took a moment to take in their features. They had such a beautifully soft look to them. They looked so comfortably kind and straight out of an ancient library or something. Not many people like that were walking around anymore. He found it reanimating to see someone so...natural.

“Well, I suppose now is a good time to tell you that I don’t plan on staying.” They said honestly.

Simon shrugged, his eyebrows darting upwards;

“I figured as much. You don’t quite seem like the type to stick around with a group like this.” He stated astutely.

They took that as a compliment, considering that they didn’t want to be considered a Savior. They followed Simon’s lead out of the kitchen as they continued their meander around the Sanctuary. 

“It was a bit of an accident. I sort of just ended up here.” They claimed.

“That doesn’t happen very often. The Sanctuary tends to only be found if someone is looking for it,” He replied; “And you still haven’t answered my question.” He grinned at them.

Their cheeks went hot at the way he smiled down at them. Damn, he wasn’t just the strong, loud type. He had a hell of a lot of charm in him too. 

“Right. Well, honestly, I’m from a little camp not too far from here. As a matter of fact, I was beginning to toy with the idea of some sort of...agreement.” They admitted.

Now this caught his ears. As vague as they were being, he knew exactly what they were saying. It had been awhile since the Sanctuary had a decent supplier to make deals and trades with. Oddly enough, Negan was rather picky when it came to things like that. He didn’t want to side with just anybody. He had to take a liking to the group as a whole and that didn’t always happen. If they were seriously offering some kind of agreement, then Simon needed to be on his best behavior. Not that he wouldn’t have been otherwise, but now the stakes were high. Simon always kept himself on the lookout for opportunities like this. He never knew when it could change the future for the Saviors. 

“You mean like a trade/supply deal?” Simon asked to clarify. 

They were surprised by his attentiveness. This man was full of all kinds of surprises. 

“Observant, aren’t you? And yes, that’s what I was referring to.” They answered simply. 

The wheels in his head were turning. He knew better than to jump at the shot before consulting with Negan. Although, Simon feared that he wouldn’t get this offer again. There had been one too many times where a good chance passed him by because he had to wait and consult with Negan. He didn’t want to miss out on this opportunity...but not exactly for the reasons he normally would.

“If you’re asking me for an answer now, then I definitely accept,” He confirmed; “Negan might be another story. He has the final word.” 

They nodded in understanding. They weren’t shocked at this. Negan surely came off as the type to always have the final say. They would deal with Negan on their own terms. 

“For now, consider the two of us allies, I’ll worry about him,” They declared; “Speaking of...”

Oh, boy. Here it comes. He knew it was only a matter of time before the 20 questions game all about Negan came rolling in. Negan always seemed to spark curiosity in everybody. They turned a corner to continue walking into another hallway;

“This Negan guy...what’s up with him?” They asked.

Simon hummed in uncertainty;

“What do you mean?” He asked; “What do you want to know about him?”

They pondered on how to phrase the next question. They could tell that Simon had a respect for Negan, but there was something about their relationship that struck them as odd.

“What’s his story? He seems rather forward.” They noted.

Simon had to be careful here. Despite how fascinated he was with them, he still wasn’t quite trusting of them. He never liked talking about his thoughts on Negan with someone he didn’t know well enough yet. However, they had been kind and patient, so they deserved an answer.

“Everything you see; the way the Sanctuary is now is all because of him. He...replaced the last guy who was head of this place.” He said beating around the truth.

Now he was the one who was being vague. Although, he expected nothing less than them to see right through his bullshit.

“You mean you? You were the one running this place.” They said.

He chuckled at himself for trying to pull a fast one on them. He stopped their trek and leaned his back against the wall;

“In a manner of speaking. It’s better off that way. I’d rather not get into it.” He abruptly ended the conversation. 

They weren’t pushy. They knew when someone was uncomfortable. So, they posed another question;

“Okay. So, what do you do around here that gave you the honor of giving this tour?” They asked cheekily.

They were feeling a sense of boldness that was unfamiliar. It was strange, but exciting.

“I’ve been called many things. Negan’s assistant, second in command, the vice president,” He rattled off; “But most refer to me as Negan’s right hand.” 

They were intrigued. A right-hand man typically did more than the person who they were the right hand to. 

“Impressive. If you can’t be the guy on top, then be his best man.” They said, continuing their walk.

Simon paused. He was a bit floored. No one ever looked at him that way. He had never thought of it that way. He was really starting to like them. 

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He recanted with a smile.

They were getting the notion that Simon didn’t really care for Negan. They could tell he wanted something different, or at least wanted to be under someone else’s rule. On top of this, the boldness that they were feeling was bubbling up fast and suddenly they were saying things before even processing it. 

“You know, we could always use an extra hand.” They said suggesting that Simon leave the Sanctuary.

They felt their heart skip a beat. Well, that sounded desperate. Simon looked to them with an amused look;

“It’s only been an hour and you’re already offering me a place to live? Sweetheart, you just might be the forward one here.” He laughed.

They were a little embarrassed at the outburst. What a weird thing to suggest so early on. Still, they committed and went on;

“It’s up to you. My offer stands.” 

This was when Simon realized just how influential they were starting to be on him. Normally, he’d deny it without a second thought. But just for a split second, he had considered it. He really did like the Sanctuary. He was overall content with his life, but even he had to wonder if there was something better waiting for him. It was something for him to think about. He would never abandon ship that quickly, no matter how attracted to them he was. 

“I appreciate it, but I don’t think Negan would take kindly to me leaving. I’m good where I am for now.” He kindly declined. 

He concluded the tour shortly after. Allowing them to give their final thoughts and impressions. They were interested in this place. Again, it had been a while since they had seen anything like it. A supply/trade deal would prove beneficial. They were able to have a private conversation with Negan after it was all done to discuss a possible meeting to go over the fine details. They spoke very highly of Simon and his work ethic, just in an attempt to score him some brownie points. 

Negan was pretty stoked to have this kind of offer on his table. It had been a long time since this had happened. Simon stood outside the door, arms crossed and feet crossed as he tried to listen in. The walls were just so damn thick. He was curious to see how this was going to play out. He definitely wanted to see them again. 

“Are you crushing on Simon?” Negan asked suddenly, noticing the way that they looked away when mentioning him.

“What? No.” They lied quickly.

Negan smirked;

“Oh, you so are. I’ll be fucking damned. I get a supplier and he gets someone who has an eye for him.” 

They blushed for what felt like the millionth time that day. It wasn’t really Negan’s business, but they couldn’t deny it if they made it so obvious. Negan eventually let it go, but he (for once) wasn’t thinking of just himself when accepting your offer. Despite all of Simon’s past mistakes, Negan was fond of his right-hand man. If he could score him a lover, then it was worth it. 

They exited the room in a scurry, not expecting to see Simon standing there. 

“What’s the verdict?” Simon asked with no knowledge of the other conversation that had just been had.

They felt themselves relax at the sight of him. Shit, did they really have it that bad?

“You can now consider me a part-time Savior.” They smiled proudly.

Simon’s heart did a little victory leap;

“Sweet. I look forward to seeing you around.” He charmed.

They nodded;

“Yeah, you too.” 

It had been an interesting day to say the least. Negan earned an ally, Simon found someone he wanted to be romantically involved with, and they just might have fallen in love.

This was only the beginning for the right-hand man’s newly found lover.

[fenheart87]

manikin

Lukanette 2020 Exchange piece For @the-alice-of-hearts, enjoy! 

Marinette was on a mission,step outside of her comfort zone and again echoed by her technical design professor to be more daring and assertive and bold. She needed to round out her styles and portfolio as much as she could to make herself a more attractive candidate for any applications she submitted or even just expanding her online commissions and bulking her portfolio that way if she chose to start out on her own. It was difficult to just be set in one style and make it big when just starting. Mari figured that she would explore as much as she could before committing to one genre or style, it would keep her far from being burnt out like some of her fellow classmates.

“Hey Nathaniel! Have you seen Juleka?” She called out, walking a bit faster to the redhead who waited for her to join him.

“She was around this morning but I haven’t seen her since. Have you tried calling or texting her?”

“Yup, nothing but silence though. I’m out of touch with everyone’s schedules the more time goes by.”

“Is she complaining she can’t be super Mari and be our everyday ladybug again?” Marc teased, sneaking up and poking the shorter girl’s sides resulting in a squeal.

“Marc!” She smacked a red clad shoulder before they disappeared behind their boyfriend. “Stop doing that!”

“Stop making it so easy?” Nathaniel offered, smirking at Mari’s adorable pout.

“I hate you. I really do. Welp, if Juleka is busy and you’re both too shy to play model and dress up and have proof of it, I guess I need to find a model.”

“I’m pretty much free if you need a mannequin, class ends at three for me this week.” Marc offered kindly, green eyes peeping over Nathaniel’s shoulder.

“Oh wonderful! I found another sample fabric I wanted to try for you!” She did her jump and hip shimmy, ignoring the giggles.

“Only exception being Thursday, that’s date night this week.”

“Fine, have your boyfriend Marc on Thursday, I get your girlfriend Michelle the rest of the week. See you later!” Mari dashed away, giggling as the bright red spots on Marc’s cheeks.

After walking around campus and deciding against searching too far as she still had classes, she was no closer to finding her muse model but it did nothing to dampen her good mood. It was a sign that meant she would just have to explore the in and outs further and stay away from her usual haunts. Instead of using her eyes she decided to let her ears guide her, Marinette glanced around a few times and focused on conversations instead of what people were wearing, hearing the emotions in their voices. With the new mindset, carefully the young designer wandered around and sketched some expressions, new emotions to craft into fabric choices and color schemes to make them come alive as clothing to wear the emotion plain as day. There was a ton of laughter and giggles around her until she got closer to the library. The sound of a guitar drew her in like a sirens song.

Marinette needed a break from all the walking and climbing she had done so far and decided to stop by the library for the few books she had on hold. Skirting around the cliques that hugged the stairs more often than naught, the petite designer made her way into the library. Seeing Max working the check out desk, Marinette bee lined for him, smiling wide enough to crinkle eyes just slightly.

“Marinette, how are you today?” Max greeted, shuffling books around to scan them and write the names on the cards for the reserved items.

“I should have a few books on hold, all fashion related of course, there was one that was checked out but if you could see if it’s been returned?”

“Sure thing, book title, author or DEWY code?”

“There’s several, here’s my card.” Marinette held it out for Max to scan, rocking on heels slightly to a rhythm she could hear every time the door opened.

“Ah yes, you have five reserved and it looks like two have not been checked back on yet. Would you like me to check the return bin?” Max asked, finding the appropriate stack of books and setting them on the counter.

“Yes please, even if we can find one more that makes it easier to study and hopefully pass with flying colors.”

“Fashion has always been a huge part of you Marinette, as long as your heart is in it then you’ll pass with flying colors.” Max smiled at the rare blush on the young woman’s face, “I’ll check the returns for you, be right back.

Marinette breathed deeply to calm her sudden nerves, her friend’s unwavering faith in her abilities always managed to take the designer off guard but she wouldn’t change any of them for the world. While waiting, she filled out the cards for the books in the pile to make Max’s job easier but kept getting distracted by the wonderful music that kept sneaking through.

“I managed to find both luckily, if you could fill these out then you free to chase whatever has you so distracted.” The glint from his glasses made Marinette squeak in embarrassment as being caught.

“Thanks Max!” Quickly she stuffed the books in her backpack and marched at a reasonable pace to the door and only let out the breath she was holding once outside.

Students shuffled to and from the library, stopping to chat quietly or bask in the music for a moment before continuing their way. The solo guitarist was the center of attention, playing a mix of old and new songs. The overall genre seemed to be with the intent to soothe stressed students and teachers alike as they passed by, Marinette could feel herself relaxing and her creative block lifting. Deciding to obey her muse, the slim young woman snagged a bench that was being vacated by a couple who had finished their coffees. Unsure how much time had passed, the designer lost herself to the world of inspiration, completing outlines with notes and vague sketches with the knowledgeable experience telling her to be swift and flesh then out later.

The music had become a soft and sweet ballad, just hovering in the background for anyone to notice or ignore if they were passing by. Marinette took a quick glance at her outlines and notes, polishing little things or rewriting fabric choices, her eyes fell to the musician that she could finally see and she froze. This was exactly what she was looking for, his expression spoke of calm but hid the slight anxiety every time he started a new song. When he suddenly changed tunes and a couple stopped fighting because the music took over made his lips quirk in a faint grin. His clothes were made to blend in, ripped jeans and combat boots topped with a plain Jagged tee and lightweight layered Hoodie. That did absolutely nothing to help hide his hair with the blue tips, was that a tongue ring?! Marinette felt the need to sketch and design and she had to see what color his eyes were.

Swiftly but carefully she put away her supplies and made her way to the musician that was quietly packing away his guitar and removing the tips from his case. The designer caught his attention and when the weight of gaze met hers, Marinette just blurted out what came to mind.

“You’re hot, can I undress you?” With a squeak, she smacked her face with her sketchpad and took a few deep lungs full of air. “I’m sorry! I want your clothes- I just, you were playing and sound sexy- GOOD SOUND! I really like you- YOUR  style it’s mysterious but like nice- I really want to undress you- I mean I-!”

“Deep breaths.” His melodic voice cut through her anxiety like a hot knife to butter. “I’m Luka.”

“Ma-ma-Marinette!”

“Nice to meet your Ma-ma-Marinette. You’re an artist too?” He nodded causally to her sketchbook.

“Yes. Fashion designer. Project.” Few more deep breaths. “I need to branch out and try a new style and I usually create women’s clothes. So my professor told me to challenge myself and your music inspired me and when I looked at you, you’re perfect. That is- I mean, if you wouldn’t mind being my model?”

“So do I get to undress myself or is that your job?” Luka teased with a grin, causing Marinette to hide her face again with a squeak. “I have a crazy schedule but I’d love to help.”

“I have time on Tuesdays from two to five, Thursdays from five to seven and Saturdays after the morning rush so more like three or four to eight.” She rattled off, pulling out her planner to his amusement.

“Okay I’ll have to check my schedule, two of my classes are up in the air. How about we exchange phone numbers and then I can text you what’s my schedules going to look like? It changes week to week.”

“Most musicians do it seems, one of my best friends is a DJ and he takes all kinds of gigs so it’s hard to sit down and catch up.” They traded phones and saved their numbers before swapping back. “Some of this we can do via Skype if needed, you have to be comfortable with the design too and just wearing it to help my grade.”

“Seems like you’ve done this before.” Luka stuffed his phone into his pocket and packed away his guitar, shouldering his case.

“Fashion student, too broke for mannequins so I lure in unsuspecting folk with delicious free pastries from the best bakery in town.” She teased with a huge grin.

“Well then, I look forward to those pastries.”

Waving, they went their separate ways and Marinette had a skip in her step that had been missing due to the stress. Texting her other friends that were her usual models but this time with ideas of clothing to compliment the designs she had drafted for Luka. Everyone had a positive response and she had just enough people for a full collection, Marinette was sure to blow this project out of the water.

- - - 

Luka stared down at his phone with a smile. As far as first impressions go, he didn’t think negatively of Marinette. It was easy for the musician to recognize the spark of creativity making her blue bells shine and the dark circles the byproduct of sleepless nights from the muse keeping her awake to do her bidding. Her song was the dead giveaway, it was beautiful but unfinished with the crash of crescendos and decrescendos in spots, showing she was afraid to stay loud and bold.

“That had better not be another cat meme.” Juleka muttered, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Nope, I just got asked to undress for a pretty cute girl.”

“What girl wants to see you naked?”

“Not naked, she wants to dress me up.” Luka corrected, waving the waitress over so they could order. “Caramel cappuccino and one hot fudge vanilla shake.”

“Design student or art student?” Luka had no trouble hearing his sisters mumbles, even over the din of the coffee-shop.

“Design student, I guess she felt a good vibe with the music I was playing and she got bit by the creative bug.”

“Not the only one that got bit.” Juleka smiled innocently as the waitress set down their drink orders. “When’s your first fitting?”

“I don’t know, I told Marinette I would text her my schedule for the week once I figure it out.

"Well them, you had better bring me back an eclair and a chocolatine, try the macaroons.” With that cryptic advice, Juleka took her drink and left her brother confused. A ding from his phone had him opening a picture of a very familiar face forwarded from his sister.

Is this the ‘go get em tiger high-five from you?

You hurt her and you’ll answer to your future sister-in-law.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

[rosecorcoranwrites]

What to Put in Your Story (and What Not To)

I have been contemplating writing or filming a piece on “Why I (Book) Blog”, which may at some point be forthcoming, but the long and the short of it is, I find it useful to analyze stories. Note, stories, not books. As you’ll know from my Rant Rave Reviews to my four-part series on different mediums of fiction, I consider books, movies, video games, and so on to all hold value in terms of narrative structure and choice.

Despite their differences, all stories have one thing in common: someone wrote them. Which means that someone, or someones, chose what to put in them and what not to put in them. This might seem obvious, but the import of this fact seems to allude many an amateur writer and book critic. Particularly when talking shop, writers seem so focused on what taboos to avoid or what structures to follow that they forget the most basic question: what should go in the story? And its mirror image, what can be left out.

If this all seems opaque, let me illustrate with some examples.

3rd Person Omniscient: In Frame and In Focus

Someone on Twitter asked if, when writing 3rd person omniscient, it would be cheating to have a twist, since that would mean keeping facts from the reader and thus, I suppose, no longer be omniscient. I told her not to worry. As the writer, she gets to decide what is in frame in focus, and what is out.

Think of 3rd person omniscient as the lens of a camera in a movie. It shows the scene, apparently without bias, and may focus in on one character or another, or have wide shots, close ups, etc. The skilled movie-maker can still pull off wild twists, simply by decided where and how to point their camera.

Similarly, the author can choose what to focus on. Nay, she must choose, as it is literally impossible to describe every object, every action, and everything else that happens in a given scene. Even if possible, it would be boring.

This is why I think it’s helpful to analyze non-book media. What do those storytellers do, and why, and can that translate to a book? In this case, the eye of the camera is a perfect analogy for the view of omniscient 3rd.

Memoir and Other Nonfiction

In another online interaction, I mentioned that, if I ever get around to writing a memoir of library life, I might just leave COVID out (probably not, anymore, but this was back in May, and I was young and naive). Shocked, someone replied that it’s such a huge event and part of everyone’s lives; why would I do that? They might well have said how can I do that.

Because it’s a memoir, basically. Memoirs, unlike autobiographies, focus on one aspect of a person’s life. They don’t need to include everything. If it hadn’t dragged on for months and actually affected the type of experiences I want to put in my book (ie, weird things that patrons and staff do at the library), there would be no point in including it.

One can write a memoir set during the year 2001 without delving into the World Trade Center Attack, though it was the most influential event on that year and the next decade for two countries. I was in middle school then; my “middle school memoir” would include, mostly, adolescent girl and Catholic school silliness. Maybe two pages might be devoted to the attacks, because, at that point in my life, they pretty much affected two days of my consciousness. It wasn’t for a while that my focus, my lens, really realized all the repercussions.

And though this is particularly true of memoirs, all nonfiction has to leave some events and individuals on the cutting room floor, again, by nature of the bookish beast. More interestingly, in my mind, is what nonfiction writers choose to include. One of the reasons I love nonfiction is that those authors are some of the most skilled meaning makers, weaving together seemingly disparate aspects of history into a cohesive narrative.

A wonderful example of this is The Apparitionists: A Tale of Phantoms, Fraud, Photography, and the Man Who Captured Lincoln's Ghost by Peter Manseau. Manseau takes the American Civil War, the early history of photography, and the Spiritualist religion and examines how each one influenced and was influenced by the others. Note that most books about the Civil War don’t focus that much on photography, and almost none mention Spiritualism. They don’t have to, because that’s not what those authors are trying to talk about. Manseau takes a different perspective, not about battles or the fight against slavery, but about the cyclical influences of technology, religion, and war on society. Neither focus—the general Civil War view nor Manseau’s—is wrong or misleading. Both are historically accurate; they are simply about different aspects of history.

Mystery: Clues and Red Herrings

Finally, we come to my current obsession, and one where the question of what to include and what to leave out is particularly relevant: mystery fiction. Not only am I writing a mystery, I’m on a mystery binge. Poirot, Miss Marple, Father Brown, and The Red House Mystery: by soaking my brain in these, I am hoping to gain the ability to write a satisfying puzzle and denouement.

Any classic mystery relies chiefly on two things: clues and red herrings. Rather than excluding relevant details, and thus pulling the solution out of nowhere, the skilled writer’s ability to satisfyingly fool the audience relies on putting in more details that necessary and then obscuring which are relevant to the actual case.

This is deliberate on the writer’s part. When throwing in a red herring, they have to decide why it would be misidentified as a real clue, what it’s actual meaning is, and how the clever detective comes to figure out the difference. They then have to do the opposite for important clues: why does this get overlooked or misinterpreted? How does the detective discover the truth?

I had to consider this in the chapter I wrote—then re-wrote—recently. The first draft had all the facts of the case, but essentially laid it bare for the reader. It was not only too obvious, but also not punchy or interesting. So I went back to the drawing board, mentioning important clues but only hinting at their true meaning. I’m not sure I put enough physical red herrings, but I have several misleading conversations and assumptions on the part of the detective’s assistant.

Will it be satisfying? That remains to be seen, as I’m but a novice at mysteries. I may just need to adjust the focus of my lens a few more times.

[letroadecjustice]

“Justice Speaks,” vol. 5, issue 001

100 copies of this issue were left on the table in front of the library’s noticeboard Time: 6.20am

My dear readers, today I woke up late, at 6am. I had spent the entire evening finalizing our first issue of the semester. As my more dedicated readers may know, I have recently become concerned about the town lore, and thus this volume must reflect that. While I am quite certain about my research on the lore, there are bigger things at stake here, such as drama and gossip. So, let’s dive in. 

TOWN NEWS:

A protest against the Vietnam draft is scheduled to take place this Friday, September 18th at noon in Baker Hall’s courtyard. All attendees are encouraged to bring signs. This protest is organized by le Troadec’s Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). 

This Saturday at 9pm, Topped Off is hosting a slam poetry evening. Entry is free and all participants get free coffee. Please go read your terrible haikus you wrote in your 100-level English course, I need a good laugh. 

The parks department would like to remind all students that swimming in the Bayou is prohibited and that you will get eaten by an alligator. Again, it would be great for me if you did the opposite of what they said. Don’t let them impede your free speech! It’s your right to get eaten by an alligator. 

GLOBAL NEWS:

The Beatles made waves last Friday by refusing to play in Alabama if their concert was segregated. As much as I hate the British, I would like to commend them for refusing to give into the South’s unbridled racism. That being said, they are scheduled to play TOMORROW in New Orleans and are coming from Cleveland, so there just might be a chance we’ll be seeing them driving through our own little town - keep an eye out. 

Last Tuesday, Walter Ulbricht, leader of East Germany, allowed for elderly East Germans to cross the border and visit relatives in West Germany. We can imagine this is nothing but good news for our own geriatric East German, Dr. Dominick König. 

Passed this summer, the Civil Rights Act finally went into effect for schools this past week, which had many opening their doors for the first time to an integrated student body. 

I would like to remind all students of voting age to register now, as the election is only two months away! Check in with the SNCC to learn how to do so, and don’t forget to vote LBJ. 

ACCORDING TO SOURCES:

While I cannot confirm these, I cannot deny them either. I just believe they are good enough to print, as always, if you’re mad about it, just put the newsletter down. It’s that easy. 

Meredith Locke is the first cousin of Nikita Khruschev, leader of the Soviet Union. 

How exactly did Dan Mercier get into le Troadec? Well, it wasn’t by test scores. His parents bought his way in. 

The university’s current dean, Clarence Weinzapfel, is a closeted homosexual. I would say power to him, but we all remember how he shut down the gay rights protest last year. 

Eros Illiades is a draft dodger; he submitted fake medical records in order to avoid being sent to Vietnam. 

Emmett Clermont regularly abuses tranquilizers and spent one year of his youth at a rehabilitation center in central Montana. 

Anyone notice how Charlotte Broussard wasn’t present in theology yesterday? That’s because she’s been booked on charges of conspiring to commit domestic terrorism. On top of that, she’s in a lesbian relationship with her roommate, Eve Hansen. 

Sister Carlene, head nun, used to be an exotic dancer in New Orleans. I can confirm this one, this rumor was submitted with photographs that I have omitted for feminist reasons.

Natalia de Leon is currently taking antibiotics for a yeast infection she gained from having sex in S.L.U.G. Better luck next time. 

and what I know all of you damn try hards with no lives have been waiting for...

UPPERCLASSMEN RANKINGS

Due to this being a new volume, I would like to let all new readers know that this is 100% accurate information, as I have an informant in the administration. 

Emmett Clermont, 3rd year Philosophy + Meredith Locke, 3rd year History (a tie!)

Charlotte Broussard, 3rd year PoliSci 

Jonathan Shimony, 4th year Engineering 

Acacia Buchanan, 4th year PoliSci 

and of course, closely following: Park Dae-Jung, Leonard Ramone, Natalia de Leon, Rue Pickens.

JUSTICE REPORTING

If you followed my paper over the summer, you will already be caught up with my research on the town’s mythos. However, if you’re a freshman or someone who isn’t a resident, you likely weren’t reading. So here’s my weeks update:

I still believe that the town legend of witches returning to walk the earth is based in fact. As I uncovered, witches truly were executed in Lucrece and there was a mysterious emigration among a large percentage of female residents immediately following. While I thought perhaps the day of reckoning would be in the future, I now believe that it is upon us right now. Has everyone else felt a shift in the air? Astrologically speaking, 1964 is not a good year for our town. Signs point to major upheaval. Perhaps this has to do with the Vietnam War, but reported sightings of spirits in the Bayou have gone up this summer. 

As the full moon on the 21st gets closer, I recommend everyone wear some piece of silver jewelry and avoid walking alone at night. 

AND LASTLY...

At the start of the term, I received a rather odd letter in my mailbox. It was the first direct interaction the administration has made with me, and I feel compelled to share its contents. 

To the writer and publisher of “Justice Speaks,” Your circus has gone on long enough. The university has endured five semesters worth of libel from your publication. Your remarks on the university’s administration as well as the United States government could constitute as treason. Your so-called dedication to “justice” and “truth” is anything but that! You regularly publish rumors without evidence, as well as the class ratings that we have no idea how you’ve obtained them. There is clearly crime at hand here and we, as a university, are urging you to quit before you get into real legal trouble. Should you continue publishing, we will uncover your identity, you will be expelled, and referred to the police. Sincerely, Dean Clarence Weinzapfel

Well, Clarence, it’s been five long semesters and you haven’t found me yet! Here’s my response: get bent. 

Have thoughts on the newsletter? Drop a note in my mailbox. 

[bastillewolf]

The Grand Tranquility Hotel (IX)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: An eccentric hotel owner and an inquisitive writer find solace in each other when they both seemed to be at the edge of rock bottom.

Notes: This chapter was 7 pages in my Word document. You’re welcome.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter IX - Star Treatment

Her leg couldn’t stop the anxious bouncing. It was late, and the sight of her sitting on her bed in her evening dress would’ve probably made a few heads turn if she hadn’t been by herself. It wasn’t often she got this nervous anymore, and certainly not over something like this.

She took a deep breath, before picking up the phone and dialling a familiar number. It rung only three times when a voice answered her.

“Hello?”

“I need you to come over.”

 Nothing that morning had given her any insinuation that she would be calling someone later that night, because they’d only just taken a seat at the breakfast table. “Where’s mister Turner?” she wondered as she grabbed a piece of warm buttered toast. Watching them exchange looks with each other, she grew suspicious. “Uhm, he had some things to take care of, miss. He’ll show up eventually,” Nick hesitantly answered, his eyes darting to Matt to look for some kind of approval.

Said man simply rolled his eyes, adding, “He’s sorting the last things out with the police. It’ll be some time before he can get off the phone.” She hummed, “Was it that difficult to pass such information to me, Nick?” “W-Well, you know how mister Turner can get,” Nick replied, “He doesn’t like it when we talk about his business with others.”

“With others?” she repeated, clearly upset. “I thought I’d done enough to be not just ‘others’. What are you not telling me?” Nick looked downtrodden, casting his eyes upon his lap. “I’m sorry, miss. I wish I could tell you. But mister Turner will probably explain everything later today, you’ll see.” She huffed, throwing her napkin on her half-finished plate before taking off.

Matt clapped his hands, “That went well.”

“Yes, thanks for the help by the way, prick,” Nick grumbled.

“You know Alex would have murdered me if I had told her anything about his plan.”

 Her eyes darted over the words in the book she’d randomly picked up off the shelf, but she couldn’t keep her concentration long enough to understand what they were saying. It was a high amount of frustration built up inside her which she wasn’t sure how to get rid of. After having spent so much time in the hotel owner’s presence, chipping down bits and pieces of his walls and finally getting to the grand finale of hearing the hotel’s biggest secret, she had no clue what there was still left to hide, or why there were reasons to hide anything at all.

She laid her head against the armrest of the loveseat she’d been sulking in, watching the flames in the fireplace flicker and crackle as a piece of char broke off of a wooden log. The heat that spread across her legs was comfortable, and she could have dozed off then and there if it hadn’t been for the small draft tickling the hairs on top of her head. Turning towards the library’s large windows, she noted that none of them had been opened and that the door she’d come in through had been shut when she’d slammed it behind her like an ignorant child. She felt a bit bad about it now, seeing as the woodwork of the door looked intricate and very old.

Her head perked up when she saw something out of the corner of her eye during her investigation of the mysterious draft. It was a thin door, tucked in a corner between the grand bookshelves, which had the same colour of the wood around it. It’s probably why she’d never noticed it before on first glance, or had perhaps initially brushed it off thinking it was some sort of broom closet.

The room she stepped into was rectangular, with the window nearly covering the entire wall of the thinner width of the lounge. She would call it a lounge, though the seating area in the centre had been covered by white sheets to prevent any dust from settling from underusage. In front of the glass panes stood another piece of furniture, one with a distinct shape that told her exactly what it was, but she threw the covers off of it anyway.

The sizable piano wing was stunning, though now she understood the intention of hiding it for it was far too beautiful to be touched by an inexperienced hand.

“Do you play?”

She smiled to herself. She could’ve expected it. “A little. My mother was far more talented, however. She tried to teach me, but I was too impatient for her as a child.”

Alex hummed, sliding his hand along the black shiny coating of the instrument as if he was caressing a marble statue. “One of my business partners gifted it to me,” he told her, “I’d always preferred the guitar, but when I felt like I’d found everything there was to discover with it, I learned to play the piano a bit.” He lowered himself onto the small leather seating, lifting the fallboard to uncover the black and ivory white keys. He patted the space next to him.

She begrudgingly sat down as well, as he began to play an interesting tune.

“I just wanted to be one of The Strokes, now look at the mess you made me make,

hitchhiking with a monogrammed suitcase, miles away from any half-useful imaginary highway,

I'm a big name in deep space, ask your mates, but golden boy's in bad shape,

I found out the hard way that here ain't no place for dolls like you and me,

Everybody's on a barge, floating down the endless stream of great TV,

1984, 2019,

Maybe I was a little too wild in the 70s,

Rocket-ship grease down the cracks of my knuckles…”

She’d almost sighed when the sound of his velvety voice had trailed off and his fingers slid from the keys. “You wrote that?” she asked. He nodded shyly, running a hand through his hair. “You know, if the hotel thing doesn’t work out, you could always just become a poet. Or a singer-songwriter. You have the voice for it.”

He huffed, “You flatter me, writer. But I think if I ever chose the music path I’d need at least five years to make an album. I’d lose my train of thought.” “I highly doubt that,” she remarked. He glanced up at her with his serene brown gaze. “You’re upset about something,” he noticed, “What happened, love?”

She looked at him with indecisiveness, feeling apprehensive about sharing information with the person who was apparently still holding something back from her as well.

“Your staff was very cautious not to tell me where you were this morning,” she decided.

He straightened his back, not quite willing to meet her gaze as he fumbled with the cuffs of his suit, which told her enough. “I had to take care of some business.”

“Okay, good talk.”

He grabbed her hand before she could get up, letting out a deep sigh of defeat. “I’m sorry, love. But you’ll have to hear about it later today.”

“I thought you were trusting me, Alex.”

“I am. You’ll like it, so there’s no need to worry.”

His face hovered closer to hers. “It’s something for you, after all.” He gently moved her hair and placed a soft kiss behind her ear, before leaving a breathy trail along her throat, not quite touching her but still making her tingle all over. When he reached her lips, he finally kissed her, but it was only brief. “I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.”

 What a bastard, she kept thinking to herself. How dare he put her in such a situation? The audacity.

She was standing in front of her closet. It wasn’t usual for her to unpack her suitcase when staying at a hotel, but from the beginning on having not known how long she was staying, this was one of the rare occasions that her clothes didn’t have as many wrinkles as they usually would have because she’d been wise enough to put them on the hangers.

It was where she’d decided that she had absolutely nothing that could fall under the phrase ‘something nice’.

Anything she did have was either bluntly denied because it seemed too floozy, or thrown onto her bed because it was ‘too nice’. Her mother’s to go response for a clothing crisis such as this one had always been plain and simple; ‘wear something classy, yet comfortable’, but she now felt like she should have asked her for a bit more details.

Her makeup was done in what she usually would have thrown on if she had gone out, with only the right shade of lips missing because that came after the first crisis. She only had about half an hour left and she was still sat on her bed in her fluffy white robe, wondering if she should even go at all.

A knock came from her door and her stomach sunk, but she decided that it would be better to yell at him for being early than not answering at all. When she opened the door a tad so only her eyes could peek out, she wasn’t expecting to see Matt. He raised his eyebrows at her when she only blinked at him. “Can I help you?” she muttered; her voice slightly muffled behind the woodwork.

Matt raised his arms which held a beautiful bouquet of white roses. “A peace offering?”

When she allowed him to step in, he glanced over the mess of clothes she’d made before turning to her with a smirk on his face. “Is someone nervous?” he teased. “I thought you were here to make peace, not war?” she questioned in annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest. He smiled awkwardly, “Sorry, ma’am. About this morning, too. Me and the boys never meant to offend you in any way. We see you as a part of the family now and were only being secretive because Alex was so adamant on surprising you with dinner.”

She raised her brows in pleasant surprise. “He’s taking me out to dinner?”

He froze. “Well- it’s only in the dining hall, to be fair- I shouldn’t have said anything.”

She patted his arm comfortingly. “You’re forgiven if you help me pick out a dress.”

 It turned out Matt’s fashion sense was a lot better than she’d expected, because he had her dressed and ready to go in no time and had even managed to find a pair of matching shoes for her classy-but-comfortable evening dress. She did her fifth once-over in the mirror after having applied her red lipstick, and it made Matt smile. “You look beautiful, miss.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Matthew.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gunna pop off before Alex sees me in the same room as his lady looking all fancy,” he muttered, taking a glance at his watch. Before she could ask all about his particular choice of words to describe her, he had unfortunately already taken off.

 It was the next time she opened the door that made her chest almost burst with giddiness. Alex wore an all-black suit, which, like all of the others he wore, was tailored to the detail. His hair was slicked back with only the front cuff hanging over his forehead, giving him a classic bad boy appearance. He smelled like expensive cologne and a hint of cigarette smoke. He managed to look irresistibly attractive and not just because she’d always had a thing for men who smelled good.

He let his eyes wander over her body and it nearly made her shy if she hadn’t felt so good in the dress she was wearing. He looked about ready to cancel the date and just push her up against the wall then and there, and a small part of her kind of wished he had. “You look absolutely ravishing, love,” he growled. It made her lips quirk up and she had to restrain herself not to break into a full smile out of excitement. It had been a long time since she’d felt like this. “You clean up nicely yourself, mister Turner.”

He huffed, “You’re killing me, love. Call me Al, Alex or Alexander or I won’t last the whole evening.” She pursed her lips with amusement in response. “Good to know.”

 She’d held onto his arm the entire trip downstairs and he seemed very willing to keep her close to his side, slowing his stride to match her pace and glancing down at her ever so often. It made her realize how nice it was for someone to return her affections so delicately.

She’d almost burst out laughing when she saw Matt awaiting them in full tux, bowtie and all, looking like a proper waiter. “If you start laughing I’ll throw them flowers out of the window, miss,” he frowned. She smirked at him, as Alex scolded, “Be nice to the lady, Matthew.” “Well, I would be if I could just remember why I actually agreed to doing this.”

“Don’t worry, Matt. I’ll even tip you at the end of the night if you haven’t thrown my flowers out by then,” she joked. He snorted, before gesturing for the both of them to follow him into the hall.

It was the usual setup of tables, only this time their particular spot had been decorated with a few candles and small but classy bouquets of dried wildflowers. “So, it is a date, then,” she commented, noting the table was only set for two. Alex blinked at her blankly, before replying, “I’m sorry, would you have wanted to have a candlelit dinner with someone else?”

Matt intervened, “Now that you mention it, I’m actually quite hungry-“ before Alex shoved his elbow into his side, making the temp waiter groan. She laughed at their antics, telling the hotel owner, “No, Alex. I wouldn’t have wanted to share it with anyone else.” It made Alex perch up in delight as Matt simply gasped in an overexaggerated portray of betrayal.

Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a chair for her, only taking his own seat when he knew she was comfortable. “Now, may I finally take your order?” Matt asked, taking a notepad and pen from his jacket’s pocket. “And you’ve always wondered why I never let you be a waiter,” Alex muttered as his eyes scanned over the menu.

When Matt left them with their requests written down, Alex leaned back into his chair, seeming to finally relax a bit. “Did you spend all morning planning this?” she wondered. He shrugged, “The thing that took me the most time was to convince the guys to play along.” “And how did that work out?” “Let’s just say that when they started making ridiculous demands in return I reminded them of who’s really in charge here.” “So, you had to bribe them anyway?” “Yes.”

They shared a smile; one she could only ever get from this joyful banter she shared with him. It made her appreciate him doing this for her even more.

“Have you started your novel yet?” he finally decided to ask. She leaned her elbows on the table a bit, giving him a questioning look. “Do you actually want me to start a novel?” He hummed, “I’m not sure yet.” “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, Alex. If you don’t want people to know about it, my lips are sealed.”

“I know, which is why you’re the first person I haven’t completely shut down the idea of a book about the hotel with. I just need a bit more time to think about it.”

“I understand. Take as much time as you need.” She mulled it over for a moment, thinking of how the book would be plotted out if it ever were to happen. Her lips quirked back up a bit. “But, in the probability that a novel might be written, I suppose I’d have to inquire a bit more about the hotel owner himself.”

His eyebrow was raised in amusement. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, I already know you’re a literature fanatic. But I didn’t know you were as much into the art of music as you’ve shown me this afternoon.”

He nodded, “It’s always played a big part in my life. It started when I became a big fan of the Strokes when I was younger. Wanted to be a part of their band or create one of my own, which is partially why I started playing the guitar. Me, Jamie, Nick and Andy even used to play a few gigs here and there while we were in school.” “Would have loved to see that.” “I’m sure you would have, even if it was just to laugh at my stupid haircut.”

“I wouldn’t dare laugh at you mister Turner,” she smirked, “Even having heard of the fact that you’re really just a big science fiction nerd.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?” “I inquired one of your dear friends about it, who was very happy to tell me all about your obsession with Blade Runner and the sort.”

“So, you spoke to Miles.” She shrugged, as he continued, “You can say anything you want about that movie, but you can’t deny that Harrison Ford was fantastic in it.” She sucked in a breath, “I’ve never seen Blade Runner.”

She snorted when his eyes widened. “What do you mean, you’ve never seen Blade Runner?”

Lifting her shoulders, she replied, “I’ve never really had the patience to watch it.”

“Outrageous. I can’t believe I’ve told you all my secrets when you haven’t even seen that masterpiece.”

“Guess I’m just that good,” she noted with a twinkle in her eye.

It wasn’t long after when Matt barged back in with their dinner and a bottle of a very expensive-looking champagne sitting in a tub of ice. “You don’t have to open that. Save it for a special occasion,” she objected, but Matt only looked to Alex, who nodded. A pop of a bottle opening followed, and it made her sigh. “You can’t expect us to not go all out tonight, Miss,” Matt explained, “You mean more to us than you think. If you’re lucky I’ll even show you a magic trick.”

“You’re not showing her a magic trick, Matthew,” Alex said.

“Bummer. It’s really good.” As he was about to leave, she mouthed ‘later’ at him, which he peaked up at a bit.

“You shouldn’t encourage him,” the hotel owner commented, having seen her little act, “He nearly drove me off the road once while trying to show me a card trick.” “It’s endearing.” “I think I prefer the phrase ‘bothersome’.”

As they dug in, she went to ask a bit more about the hotel itself, her curiosity being indulged by his acceptance to tell her almost everything now. “What’s the most visited room?” He snorted, “Pretty obvious, really. The honeymoon suite.”

“You have a honeymoon suite?” she asked incredulously. “I already knew you’re secretly a romantic at heart, Alex, but really?”

“It’s easy money,” he begrudgingly admitted. “You call something a ‘honeymoon suite’, make sure they get the best view and shove cheesy rose petals and chocolates in their face and you’re all set.” “I don’t think that’s true.” He quirked an eyebrow in question. “I think you enjoy it,” she told him, “if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have set this whole dinner up just for me.”

“Well, when you only have one guest, you have to keep them entertained somehow.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “What else would you do to keep me entertained, mister Turner?”

His gaze remained in a trance with hers, not once wavering. He mirrored her, setting his elbows on the table and propping his chin upon his intertwined fingers. “What do you suggest, writer?”

“Dance with me,” she said.

“There’s no music.”

“Then sing that song from this afternoon.”

 He’d slid an arm around her waist without a second thought, his other hand taking hers in a warm embrace. Lifting her other one to his shoulder, she had to remember to breathe while being in such close proximity to him. Though he had intimidated her from the beginning, from the moment they’d met, even, she now felt like she’d molten into a puddle in his arms, like the feeling you’d get after a deep tissue massage. It made her wonder what it was about him that could flick a switch in her so quickly.

“I just wanted to be one of those ghosts, you thought that you could forget,

And then I haunt you via the rear-view mirror on a long drive from the back seat,

But it's alright, cause you love me, and you recognize that it ain't how it should be,

Your eyes are heavy and the weather's getting ugly,

So, pull over, I know the place…”

It didn’t take long for them to fall into an absolute trance with each other, just shuffling back and forth between the empty tables as Alex’ voice lulled her into the thought that what she felt for him was something she’d never meant to feel for him before. But she was glad it had happened, because what it was that she felt, did feel completely right.

 She twisted the key in the lock, opening the door to her room with a click that broke their little silence. She turned back to look at him. He had a hand in his trousers’ pocket, the other holding the jacket he’d swung over his shoulder. “Good night, mister Turner,” she said. “Good night, love. I had a lot of fun.”

He leaned in to kiss her deeply, and she closed her eyes at the unmistakable feeling of electricity sparking between them again. It was as if every touch of his lips was something better than the last, and when he slipped his tongue along her bottom lip, she had to steady herself to not lose her balance. He breathed through his nose when she lifted her leg to wrap around him, sliding sensually upwards while he prickled her mouth with as much preservation he was somehow still able to hold.

She felt defeated when he pulled back, slightly out of breath. “I’ll see you at breakfast, writer.”

“You better.”

He smirked, gliding a hand down her lifted thigh before gently lowering it. “If there’s anything else, just call me. I’ll be here in a whim.”

She refrained from making a Batphone joke, not wanting to ruin the moment while she forlornly watched him go back to 505. It made her think about something her mother had once said to her. ‘Grab love by the shoulders and shake it before you find you left it too late.’

 Though the hotel owner certainly had made the implication, he hadn’t expected to receive the phone call a bit later that night while he was still reeling about the night’s events on his bed.

“I need you to come over.”

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 12

Fig And Ayda Sitting in a Spiky Infernal Nightmare Tree

Welcome back to Fantasy High, where Brennan and Emily are giving the gays everything they want but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For now, the Bad Kids have just arrived in Arborly which is this ancient, twisty, mysterious forest town with buildings kind of built into the trees in such a way that makes it hard to tell it’s a town at first glance. Anyway, they get to Hollyhill--the family home of Fig’s gnome business-friend--Grover Tillythatch--which is basically this very dope hollowed out tree. At the edge of the forest (maybe a 30 min walk away), there is a place where the trees grow and twist together into an 80 foot high wall, barbed with razor sharp briars and super ominous looking. Très Sleeping Beauty.  

They unlock the gate but then realize they have to do something with the Hangvan. Gorgug thinks there’s a way to, with his Artificer skills, give the Van the availability to shrink, but that’ll be a whole project for later. What we have to deal with now though is the fact that Gilear is caught up in the wheel well of the Van, apple stuck in his mouth like a roast pig. Through a series of insane and very Gilear events (not a teleportation mishap like I initially thought), he ended up stuck there and has been since they woke up. He fully missed Hilariel and this is the first anyone noticed he was missing.The kids help Gilear out and give him a little makeover, courtesy of Adaine’s jacket--very needed because he 100% pissed his pants while jammed up (and way too soon after getting stuck).

Kristen knows that the temple she read about is extremely close to where they are. Adaine does a quick Locate Creature and can tell the elf from her Scry isn’t within the 1000 foot range. Plus, the forest they’re in just looks different.  

Anyway, once they’re in Ragh starts grabbing food. Sandra-Lynn gives Gilear a massage because that dude needs some TLC. Tracker is sticking with Kristen and in a weird headspace over the Galakaya info. And, turns out Ayda didn’t just stay in Leviathan. She teleported with them to see them off so she’s around too. The gang does a little investigation of the house where Riz finds out Grover is abusing his company expense account and Adaine pings a crazy amount of infernal energy from the spooky briar wall. Adaine also senses a strong but old (300 year-ish) aura of druidic magic in Arborly--from the reclamation efforts that took Arborly back from being behind the wall that separates Sylvere from the outside. It’s really the only progress that’s been made and it seems like it took a lot out of whoever did it. One more thing: There is a real gnomish energy around town (similar to the vibe at Gorgug’s place), even though Arborly is supposed to be very wood elf heavy.

Throughout all I’ve been describing, there have been rumblings of maybe throwing a party and Fig invites Ayda who enthusiastically accepts. The adults go to bed in the Van for safety (Sandra-Lynn puts the Hangman in charge while they’re gone) and the teens do what teens do when they have no adult supervision: They wild out. But not in a Golden Gardens “Let’s get tattoos and do drugs” kinda way. In a real, teenager kind of way. In an “I’m making crab nachos because my parents never let me,” kind of way. But that “they” doesn’t include Fig because she is doing the other thing teens do when they have no adult supervision: Sneaking out. Specifically to look at the briar wall. She can hear these faint whispers coming from the wall and Emily manages to get jump scared in a D&D game by Ayda who is suddenly standing next to Fig, having followed her because the party got overwhelming. 

They have a talk which I can and will describe but that needs to be seen in full to really appreciate the intimacy and tenderness but also fumbling awkwardness that’s happening. So while the rest of the Bad Kids are drinking and doing crab-stands and pretending to be shrimp (go with it) Fig tells Ayda that she sometimes does stuff like pretend to be other people and indulge in loud nonsense to cover up negative thoughts, like the ones that come from your dad being shoved in a gem and then getting kidnapped. Ayda can’t understand the disguising as a coping mechanism: “If I were you I wouldn’t want to be anyone else because you are very exceptional.” She then offers to give Fig a better look at the wall and, when Fig accepts, she turns them both invisible and flies them to it. 

Fig, upon watching Ayda do that very dope thing says that there’s no reason for Ayda to think she’s special when she can do cool stuff like that. Ayda, as we already know, thinks Fig is super dope too, both in abilities and personality. Ayda analyzes the briar wall and finds out mostly stuff we already knew--it keeps people from getting in or out, including through magical means like Dimension Door and it’s keyed to powerful devils. When she reaches for the thorns, they grow out to stab her and she flinches back before they can. When Fig does the same, the thorns don’t grow out. And, when she does a less intense Burning Hands, a charred handprint is left behind and the heat and energy travels somewhere else. The aura the wall is giving out doesn’t seem to bother her as much as it probably would someone else. Ayda finds it very cool, as she’s found everything Fig has done. They dip back into heart to heart mode and Ayda reveals something that we already knew from Brennan on the Discord: Ayda is technically about 150 years old due to her Phoenix cycling and she’s been working on building the Compass Points Library across her lifetimes, aided by notes left to herself by her previous incarnations. Fig asks why she would do that instead of just reinventing herself and Ayda says she doesn’t have a lot of self confidence and doesn’t want to make mistakes. Fig throws up in anticipation of saying something sincere, says she thinks Ayda is perfect the way she is, and then--as she is wont to do--skateboards away (successfully and 80 feet down the briar wall with a 22 acrobatics check).

Ayda flies down, compliments her on the sick trick then asks her to sign a binding contract that says she has info that she will give Fig but Fig can’t make any assumptions based on it or judge her. (The cast at this point is losing their minds and has been for the past couple of minutes.) Fig signs it and then Ayda gives her the information which is as follows: “At any waking moment outside of combat that you and I have been together, if you had tried to kiss me on the mouth, it would have been received favorably.” Fig drafts a contract (as a lawyer I’m using that term extremely loosely) that says that if Ayda makes fun of her, Fig will give her a wet willy. Ayda says that it’s more of a threat than a contract and Fig abruptly kisses her and then skateboards away and hides. Ayda doesn’t really have a good frame of reference for how this is supposed to go and Fig is throwing out all sorts of mixed signals but Fig comes out from hiding and apologizes and says that she’s having trouble being vulnerable since she hasn’t really done this as herself before. Ayda asks if they can go again because she thinks she can do better. Ally and Lou howl and cheer and bless the Union. Murph is clapping. Siobhan and Zac are full gone. Fig says that she only wanted to have a party so Ayda would stay longer. Ayda says she only stayed to hang out with Fig. Ayda says this is the best moment of her current life. Fig says she’s going for best, period--past incarnations included. They make out some more until Ayda has to go. Ayda says she needs to go so she can research the Planeshift spell for Fig (for free!). She doesn’t even care about shrinking down the library. Before she leaves, Ayda pulls out one of her feathers and says that if Fig holds it up and says her name, she’ll hear it and be able to come and help. Fig does the same with one of her ear-cuffs but it’s more of a gesture than an actual magical effect (though the cuff is bloody and mark my words, this is exactly the kind of goof that becomes plot relevant later). Fig comes back to the insanity the house has dissolved to and goes to use the hot tub.     

No comment. 

They all eventually go outside to sleep on a mattress, by the Van to get the protection of the Hallow spell. It’s a little glossed over but we learn when Fabian gives Riz Bardic Inspiration to remember to sleep outside that he’s taken a level of bard! In the morning (by which I mean afternoon), they all wake up to see Sandra-Lynn and Gilear speaking to, like, 40 wood-elf rangers. They’re mainly talking to an intense lady who seems to have a pretty high rank and this older looking fox. Fig steps up to speak for the group since they’re there on her invite and the elven woman is instantly wary of her horns, plus the Hangman is right there. She clearly doesn’t trust the infernal. With Guidance from Kristen, she gets a 27 Persuasion which tells her this lady (whose name we learn is Mira) will never like her BUT that’s OK because she’s not in charge. The fox actually outranks her. 

Fig shakes hands with the fox whose name is Nuathra and who is very charmed. The Bad Kids follow suit with the politeness and Nuathra is won over. He fends off Mira’s suspicions and is so chill that Fig decides (after consulting with Adaine) to just tell him they’re going into the nightmare forest. That gets bows pulled on them and Adaine steps in and identifies herself as the elven Oracle and says that they have to do it for prophecy reasons. The elves start whispering and Nuathra, who believes she is who she says she is, asks if she knows about any other high elves who look like her slinking around. Adaine says that yeah, she does, but she’s not working with them. Kristen tries to cut in and it makes Mira super aggro--seems like she doesn’t like beings that are devil adjacent or humans either. She also makes a dismissive comment aimed at high elves in response to Adaine’s statement about morality being complex.

Nuathra tells her to cool her jets and says that things are kinda tense because for the past few months, a high elven woman (Adaine’s mom) showed up, took a room at the Owl and Harp (a gnomish tavern), and hired a local wood elf drunkard named Killian. She kept to herself mostly but did do some business at the local gnomish Tinkerer’s Hall (possibly for spell components). Two nights ago, another high (extremely gassy) elven woman showed up and then they vanished (figuratively) with Killian.

When Tinkerer’s Hall is mentioned, Gorgug cuts in to get more info on that. Nuathra says that there is a gnomish population in Arborly because the Druid who gave their life to reclaim Arborly (Crafty Rootdrinker) was a gnome so now gnomes kind of have protected status. Nuathra starts tearing up a little and we later find out (via Gorgug’s intuition) that Nuathra was their Awakened animal companion (Awakened means you give a plant or animal average human intelligence and the ability to speak a language). Nuathra asks why they want to go into the forest and Gorgug says it’s because the Nightmare King might be coming back. After being horrified to learn that the NK’s crown wasn’t in magical Fort Knox and instead was just in some dude’s desk, Nuathra says that all the town’s resources are at their disposal. He points out the three obvious places to check out: (1) the tavern, (2) the tinkerer’s hall, and (3) a shrine which is a possible entrance to the forest of the NK (the Shrine of Thorns which is just on the edge of the forest--mostly still in the forest--and dedicated to a mysterious goddess).

Adaine asks about the dude in her vision and realizes quickly it’s not Killian. Then, following a comment Fig makes about honesty being the right move and spurred by their out of character knowledge, start poking at Fig for an answer to what’s different about her today. Riz rolls a 28 Investigate and Fig burns 2 luck points and a guidance to beat it with like a 31. Wild. Then they split up like this:

Gorgug, Ragh, and Fabian (with the Hangman) go to the tinkerer’s hall.

Adaine and Riz go to the tavern.

Kristen, Tracker and Fig go to the shrine (ferried by Sandra-Lynn who wants to then scout around on Baxter).       

Gilear makes lunch.              

But before they leave, Adaine Scrys on her mom and sees her, Aelwen, and Killian with a gem embedded in his open and bloody chest (clearly a puppet after the ritual that almost claimed RIz) traveling through a forest so twisted it looks like it’s underground. Adaine clocks some curse scarring on her mom and on a 15 arcana check wonders if the curse her mom got broken by Garthy was actually the Crown’s curse or maybe something the Falinel put on it for security (which could mean that the Curse on the crown is actually the goddess’s sanctum mentioned last ep). Almost immediately, Aelwen dispels the Scry and it ends. Adaine on a 25 Insight realizes that Aelwen didn’t actually sense the Scry. It was like someone told her it was happening and then she reacted to that. Adaine thinks Kalina might be around.         

On a nat 20 Perception check, Kristen sees Kalina’s eyes in the shadows. Riz--and the rest of the group--can’t see her, but she steps out of the shadows. Kalina starts slinging death threats--at the group and Tracker specifically--and Kristen does her classic Kristen thing of staring down a life or death situation with an insane casualness. Kalina says the only reason the gang is still alive is because they haven’t gotten directly in the way of her and what she wants yet. What does she want? Kristen asks. For them to stay out of the f-ing forest. Kalina vanishes. Kristen immediately loses all bravado and makes her friends dog pile her for comfort which they happily do.               

Kristen gives an arguably Inspiring Speech to give everyone 16 temp HP. Riz on a 28 Investigation roll notices that the grass where Kalina was standing isn’t bent. (The background music goes *BWANG* like Brennan planned it). Riz thinks Kalina wasn’t physically there. In fact, she might not have ever been physically there. He remembers that, in the photo, Pok’s sleeve isn’t bent where Kalina is touching him and people who can’t see Kalina don’t see the wrinkled sleeve they way they would if she was just invisible. And she’s not holding a glass in the photo. She’s holding up her hand and pretending she’s holding one. She might not exist physically at all. He thinks that the thing Aelwen and Arianwyn are doing is to give her corporeal form. They also put together than even if Kalina is somehow in their heads, she can’t really by *in* their heads because she keeps asking questions she would know the answers to already if she could read their minds. Kristen wants to chain up Tracker in the Van to keep her safe from Kalina but Tracker puts the kibosh on that with a quickness (revealing things we kinda already knew about their sex life in the process).

Anyway, let’s split up!

Tinkerer’s Hall

The Owlbear group and the Hangman kinda freak out the gnomes who think they’re being mugged or something but Gorgug wins them over with his gnomish last name and cool Solesian gadgets. They find out Killian needed wax to make candles and some basic spell components.

Tavern

The two Bad Kids possibly least equipped to go to the bar go there and try to get access to Adaine’s mom’s room. They pay Arianwyn’s tab (she left abruptly without paying) and bribe the bartender with an amount of money that will for sure get them put on a watchlist, sweating bullets the entire time, but eventually make it up there to the top suite.

The room is blood spattered, full of candle wax and arcane symbols, and there’s an image Adaine knows her mom drew of a robed, skeletal figure, wearing a crown, etched into the wall. Yikes. 

Shrine

Sandra-Lynn drops off the girls. Tracker casts a light spell and then has to step out. It’s like a vampire at the doorway of a church thing. Kristen sees a religious symbol on the wall and an ancient depiction of a woman in a dark robe and cape, holding a book and a broomstick, next to a small dwelling, black cat on her shoulder. 

Fig sees a charred handprint on the briars in the shrine and recognizes it as her own. She casts Burning Hands on her handprint that’s here for some reason and the fire catches and spreads. Brennan has a lot of fun making fire sound effects. A fiery doorway opens and a woman in armor, with horns and skeletal wings (plus flayed skin under the armor from what they can see--except for her face which is intact and beautiful) walks out and asks for Fig. When Fig identifies herself, the woman says she’s Vraz the Mean from the Nine Hells and Fig has been served. As in legally. As in a subpoena. 

Wild. 

Detention

Fig for Using up Two Luck Points Pre-Excursion Into a Doom Forest to Conceal a Crush 

I adore both Fig generally and Fig in this episode specifically but, truly, what a waste of Luck points at the cusp what possibly could be such a dire moment. And she won’t get those back before a long rest. This storyline is going so slowly. I’ve written (as I’m writing this sentence) 48k words worth of Report Cards and it’s been like what? A week? Less than that? She might not get those back for a while.

Now do I wish she’d made a different decision? Absolutely not. Emily, as always, is ride or die for the roleplay and I both love and respect it. 

But I can high-key see this biting her in the ass.  

Honor Roll

Kristen for Holding her Own Against Kalina

I think this marks K-girl’s first appearance on the Honor Roll and in my opinion (mine being the only one that matters I guess since I have no oversight and am Czar of this arbitrary award) she really earned it. First that clutch perception nat 20 to spot her and then having to hold the entire conversation by herself with no backup because she was the only one who could see her. I think this was actually a really good time for her to use her wild downplaying attitude and she was able to keep Kalina occupied for long enough for Riz to gather some of the most interesting pieces of info about Kalina yet. Very clutch.    

Random Thoughts

For a closer look into character/location descriptions from this episode, you can check out @jamiebluewind‘s posts here and here.

“Has your girl ever not delivered?”/”Yes.”/”Multiple times.”/”I mean, it’s always entertaining when you don’t.”

Lou and Siobhan Re the Hangan: “Can it turn into a Gundam?”/”Is it a transformer?”

Shoutout to Brennan for heading off flying Van shenanigans at the pass. That would have been an Immediate Problem. 

“I have never touched my Dad’s butt, nor do I want to.”

Brennan breaking himself during his first Gilear line of the ep. I wonder if he goes into any Gilear sentence knowing where he’s going, or if it’s all freeform improvisational jazz.

I think it’s really interesting that Fig fully loves Gilear but also still calls him Gilear and not Dad. Not deep meta point or anything. I just think it’s an interesting quirk of the character.   

Fig fully intending to eat an obvious death mushroom and every other party member at the same time slapping it out of her hands. 

I think I’ve mentioned on several occasions that I’m not really a shipper. Which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy romantic relationships in media. It’s just that it’s usually pretty clear which relationship the narrative is setting up so I really don’t get the point in basically campaigning for something that’s clearly going to happen (in which case, just enjoy the progression) or campaigning for something that’s clearly not going to happen and then being disappointed. But I gotta say, this Fig and Ayda has been a ride, I think largely because there was really no way to see this was coming when Ayda was introduced. Like, Tracker for instance was clearly introduced with Kristen in mind, down to being the Moon Cleric to her former Sun Cleric. Not only was Ayda not set up as a romanceable NPC, she very easily could have been skipped as even an option for befriending at all. She didn’t really make herself super available for it and it wasn’t even Fig who struck up a friendship with her initially. It was Adaine. And then Adaine got kidnapped which pushed the two resident Adaine stans together and, what do you know? Sparks (and not just from Ayda’s hair). The organic-ness of the relationship really added something that makes it really interesting and special. 

Also, lol that Fig finally found an age appropriate relationship but she’s also technically 150.

“I’m not gonna mend your piss pants.” 

For Adaine, the peak of luxury is access to fluffy robes which, mood.

OK, just to explicitly state my current pet theory that I alluded to last week, it seems pretty darn likely that Kalina is the familiar of the Mystery goddess. I said that cats are the most iconic witch’s familiar and, this ep, we saw the goddess depicted with a black cat. Plus, Brennan casually but very specifically noted that Kalina isn’t a big-cat. She’s like the tabaxi version of a house cat. And we learned that Kalina seems to be intangible which takes away one thing that was a little off for me--it seemed more like she was spreading a virus but the fact that she is intangible and just visible to people who are “infected” makes it seem more like she herself is the virus. AND, we were introduced to the concept of an Awakened, Sentient animal companion this episode which would be a great thing to do if you’re setting up the fact that this witch goddess turned her cat into a full sentient being and then a tabaxi and then a virus.  

Lol at Tracker giving Sandra-Lynn a Shovel Talk re: Jawbone. 

Riz, upon being questioned by Kristen where he got the photo of her for the “Casual” conspiracy wall he’s making: Look, you take pictures you hang them.

I want the Bad Kids to keep the motto of, “Spring Break!” year round. I want them to use it forever. I want them to be in their 30s--well out of school--and run into a deadly situation in the middle of Winter yelling, “I believe in you! Spring Break!” while very, very confused bystanders watch them. That’s really what friendship is about. Confusing the hell out of strangers with your in-jokes. 

Between last week of Fantasy High and this week of CritRole, I think a lot of people just learned what the Hallow spell is. 

“Just by being here we’re stealing. I’m like Robin Hood.”

Hangman: No rules!/Adaine: Some rules!

Guys I was SO concerned that Fig was gonna pull a Fabian and do something Concerning without any party support. So happy she decided to just get her kisses in instead. And then at the end of the ep when the two most chaotic party members were given a hell door that it 1000% seemed like they were gonna jump through but were ust handed legal paperwork instead.  

Figs comment about one of the best parts of friendship being getting to be a “chorus of nonsense” together without regard for what’s being said is so real.

I love the D&D gag of the party members who are not at an intense moment interjecting with whatever nonsense they’re doing. 

Everyone holding their collective breaths and then breaking as Emily succumbs to the urge to Touch a Thing. “You simply must.”

Ayda thinks “Choke on grapes, bitch,” is an excellent threat, and I agree.

Who cares for Ayda when she’s a newborn? Or is she reborn old enough to take care of herself? Also, update: Aguefort even worse dad than initially thought. 

Fig skateboarding away and dropping invisibility so Ayda can see and then later kissing her and Ayda going full visible are such cinematic moments. Well, the second one is at least. The first is just extremely funny. 

“I’m not gonna kiss the shrimp, Kristen. It’s dead, and we killed it.”

“I desperately and only want you to stay. And the only thing I want to do more than stay is do something for you” Why does Brennan keep dropping these raw ass lines casually in his high school D&D game?

“Can I get a help action from the jets of the hot tub?”

One little moment I loved from this ep was Mira being confused by the concept of a rock star and Adaine translating that she’s a bard/troubadour. I also just love the word troubadour. We shouldn’t have ever stopped using it. 

“That makes me nervous. Everything makes me nervous. Sure, why not.” Mood.

Mira also makes a comment about how diverse the group is that did *not* sound like a positive or even neutral statement and, listen, I’m getting Daybreak vibes my dudes.

Very funny every time we’re reminded that the reason the Bad Kids are doing this is because it’s a school project. 

Interesting character detail that Adaine started off talking about Aelwen and Arianwyn with distancing language but eventually slipped back into just calling them her mom and sister. 

A note in case it’s relevant later: Nuathra said that Crafty--his druid companion--was not a fan of cleric stuff, thought it was nonsense, and tried to avoid it at all costs. 

Fabian re Nuathra: What did the fox say?

Kristen asks Kalina’s name and she says, “You can call me Kalina,” which is subtly different than, “My name is Kalina,” which is probably just a turn of phrase and not plot relevant but I’ve been reading a lot of Fae stuff recently and a hyper-aware of weasel-out wording right now. 

“You good?”/”Now that I’m being pressed into the grass by all my friends? Yes.”

Adaine to Riz’s earlier encounter with Kalina: That was all you? You did all that damage to yourself?

I love Fig’s outrage at Adaine joking that she uses Detect Thoughts. The idea of, “We kill people and break into places and Catfish adult men but we DO NOT Detect Thoughts on each other that is the LINE.”

Kristen giving herself a sexy roleplay promotions from Officer up to Colonel was killing me. That whole thing was such a good bit and Ally and Brennan were on the same page immediately.  

Can’t wait to see the demonic (or is that devilish?) legal system so I can tell y’all how accurate it is and use something I learned in law school for once in my life. (Note: I am a lawyer, but you’d be surprised how unhelpful law school is to actually being a lawyer). 

Wonder what that subpoena was for. Maybe something involving Gorthalax or the wall? I’m trying to think of what they’d have jurisdiction over. She said the dude she works under is on the Sloth level of hell. 

Siobhan mentioned she has good Portent rolls right now which is comforting to hear. Lol, imagine if she had also decided to go full teenager this episode and use them to ferret out Fig’s crush.   

I need you to know that, in this same week (all within 48 hours of each other), between CritRole, Naddpod, The Good Place finale, I was really just drowning in content and emotions. 

The only crit of the ep is a nat 20 from Kristen. 

[whichstiel]

I made this art for the 2019 Dean/Cas Tropefest. (HUGE thanks to the mods, Jojo and Muse, for being amazing!) As soon as I read through the summaries, I knew I needed to try to grab the DRAGON STORY right away. I just...really love dragons, okay? This story is delightful and unexpected, with lovely world-building, rich side characters, and a beautiful romance between Dean and Cas. I really enjoyed reading it and working with zaphodsgirl! You can read Shadow & Storm by zaphodsgirl now! You’ll love it. <3

Here’s the summary:

One night, a mysterious visitor appears in young Prince Dean's bedroom, and he suddenly finds himself transported to an abandoned replica of his home in an unknown land. He learns quickly that the borders are finite, and none may leave without incurring the wrath of the guardian: a dragon the people call Storm.

Left with no choice, Dean adapts to life as the others have, tending to the animals and working the land to survive. As he grows up, the life he knew as a prince seems more and more distant, until a new person arrives that he remembers from his childhood. Shaken by this arrival, Dean’s desire to escape returns anew, and he discovers more than he wanted to know about the Shadowlands and its occupants -- especially about the mysterious guardian of the castle, Castiel.

Continue reading for some insight into the process and drafts behind the art.

Reading this story, I was struck by its lovely fairy tale vibe, which inspired me to make some kind of story-book art. I’ve always enjoyed pop-up books, so that seemed like a fun thing to try. My first step was to learn more about pop-ups. I turned to the internet for ideas, and found recommendations for: Pop-up design and paper mechanics, by Duncan Birmingham. This was a really useful book (I got it from the library - and you can too!) It gave me some basic structures and some general rules of thumb for how things fold and work when opened. I stuck with the simpler forms, given the short time period before posting.

Tools & supplies:

Cardstock paper

Watercolor paper (for the folding pages/backdrops and some stand-ups)

Watercolors, colored pencil, sharpie markers

Glue (I really like this scrapbooker’s glue pen for paperwork. Dries FAST and mostly doesn’t warp.)

Scissors, precision knife, ruler, protractor

Bone folder for pressing seams

Once I had some broad ideas of some of the rules of pop-up creation, I started to sketch out some quick ideas. I always like to start with the cover image, since that’s the main image people see when they’re browsing a story list. I did a few basic sketches on paper, but I decided the easiest way to develop these pop-up pieces would be to do what Birmingham called “paper sketching.” With paper sketching, you just...eyeball the pieces, attach it to a folded piece of paper, and cut away whatever paper you don’t want. It’s sort of like working with negative space in that way. Paper sketching was invaluable for helping me figure out things like: how tall should the mountains be? How high are the wings? What can fold together to lay flat? (Because I wanted this to be a functional book.) How long can I make that flame spout? (Not long, as it turned out.)

Here are some paper sketches I made of the cover image. A few of these were before I re-read the story and realized that the castle was built INTO the mountain. Oops. Building drafts helped me to realize that the concept was possible. Once I had some general structures under my belt, I could start to do the finer work of cutting out the final pieces. Draft work was typically done with sketchbook paper or cheap cardstock from Walgreens.

(Left: first draft; Right: Oh my god maybe this will actually work)

I wanted the cover to convey the full expanse of the lands surrounding the castle. I made my author draw me an actual map and diagram of all the agricultural lands. Thanks, zaphodsgirl! I chose black paper for the cover for REASONS you will discover when you read the story.

(Left: background watercolor progress with marker details; Right: taping in a quick test sketch to see if it will fit with the dragon and to test the angle)

Behind the scenes

For each design, I started by painting a watercolor backdrop, making note of the center where I’d need to fold the page. Watercolor paper was a pretty good choice because it’s thick and you can really crease the hell out of that middle joint - and the page stays strong. The cover is the most detailed. For the others, I went with more imprecise watercolor washes - mostly in the interest of time.

Finding a good backdrop is always a challenge when photographing art, and was a big issue for the cover since that dragon really gets lost if there’s too much in the background. I decided to go “Maria from Sound of Music” and pull down one of my curtains as a backdrop. That, plus desk lamps for light made a pretty good set.

This piece features Castiel fading into the dragon. I suffered from proportion control for this project but chose to forge on ahead, anyway. Sometimes the dragon is huge, sometimes it’s small. Oooooh well, it’s a dragon, anyway. :D The little Dean torso is intended to be a manually-opened inset, more to show his reaction than anything else. The dragon is 5 pieces - tail, head and forepaw, wings, and body. Castiel is a single piece; his fold is attached to the dragon and there’s a little paper accordion behind his head to keep him upright.

(Top left: I hate concept sketches; Top right: Cas coming together. I made him too tall! Oh well, I’m gonna roll with it)

Behind the scenes

This next piece was actually the second one I did, because it was the most complex and I wanted to get it finished so I wouldn’t fret over it. The red light is from a bicycle tail-light that I’m holding in the air with one hand while taking a photo with the other. I just really liked that little shadow claw on the ground!

This dragon was somewhat inspired by a Game of Thrones popup my author shared with me. My dragon isn’t as complex, but it still opens wide and closes flat, so I’m happy. It’s basically built as an upside down triangle, cut into a folded piece of paper. The fold is on the bottom. You can draw a line from the fold in its snout to a fold on its torso. The spines were cut out and glued on after the fact because I completely forgot to add them!!!

I was having some trouble with the wings attaching properly, so my test models had the dragon at various stages of height or angles from the ground. Too high and it would pop beyond the book pages. Too low and it might as well be sitting on the page completely. The dragon body has built-in tabs to which the wings are glued and the forest cutouts have this as well, for max strength. This is one of those cards where I went through enough drafts that I resorted to tape as a quick-hold option to figure out things like height and angle and how much dragon could fit in the folded pages. I ended up using an actual tool with (gasp) measurements to finally get the angle of the forest inserts right. Folding the test dragon into the card, I actually just sliced off the excess wing and tail that peeked out from the edges, then used that space when I was cutting out my final dragon.

For each of these, it’s best to get your pattern pieces as close as possible and then use that to cut your final pieces. The angles and length of everything needs to be fairly precise or what worked in your draft won’t fold well in the final version.

(Top left: So many draft pieces, so little time; Top right: Use math, kids!; Bottom: Dragon open and closed)

Behind the scenes

The last piece is modeled after a simple folding animal style. Its feet are glued symmetrically over the fold.

It’s essentially a folded piece of cardstock with an animal cut out of it. The head is attached separately, as are the wings and Amara. I had a star hole punch, which made it easy to add some stars to Amara’s gown as well as on the page. I’d wanted to do a big fold-out window arch here, but realized that it wouldn’t fit over the dragon or the Dean/Cas fold. Ah well. Please imagine it, instead.

(Top left: concept sketch; Top right: Paper sketching is a great reality check; Bottom: Amara astride Storm)

Behind the scenes

The final step was to turn this into some kind of book. At first, I planned to stitch the pages together. I’d never bound a book before, and I was cursing myself for putting down all those layers of pop-up inserts if I was going to have to stitch through each page. Then I looked at some pop-up books and realized that often just the edges of the pages are glued, leaving the middle to float as necessary. This was good, because it was a way easier option! (Also the dragon in the forest came out a little tight, so the float was very helpful there.)

I glued the page edges and, since they were a little curly from the watercolor and popup designs pulling at them, I weighted them with books to dry for a while.

I found an old book cover that would work (from a very outdated technology textbook). I sliced out the original pages, recovered the book with black paper, and glued in my new book pages on the front and back. It was a perfect fit!

I finished with time to spare, so I added a little watercolor and paper cut-out picture and frame to the front and back to add some flair. Please enjoy my terrible glue job. (I forgot to smooth the paper.)

I used a hair tie cut in half to hold the pages down for photographs (or display). I clipped two wedge-shaped bag clips to the underside of each tie to weigh down each side, and hold the book open at a slight angle.

This was a fun and challenging project to work on, and I’m so grateful to zaphodsgirl for all her effusive words and gifs of encouragement. You’re going to love this sweet story. Go read it now! Shadow & Storm on AO3.

(And if you feeling like tossing a comment my way, I’d love to hear from you here on Tumblr or on my art post on AO3.) 

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

                                     Chapter Twenty-Eight:

                               The One With The New Chief of Police

“So who fucked up my plan?” Olaf hissed as he slowed his speed. He was out of the city, finally. What was the point of speeding if no one was following him. He was racing down the Hinterlands to meet up with one of his associates in hopes of finding exactly where Violet Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire were going next.

His henchpeople looked around the cramped car nervously. No one willing to give him an answer. The only person who wasn’t intimidated by the cruel man was the person who sat happily in the passenger seat of the runaway vehicle, Esme Squalor. She merely rolled her eyes and gazed irritatedly at her long manicured nails. “Obviously, it was the two brats,” she said.

“But how?!” He hissed angrily. “You pushed them down an elevator shaft...how the fuck did they get out of the net?” He glanced at the rearview mirror. “Did you idiots not put it high enough,”

“We put it higher than we thought we could,” the bald man explained nervously.

“Then how did they get out of the net?”

“Magic,” one white-faced woman replied.

“Luck,” the other replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

The vicious kidnapper growled angrily. “Those brats don’t have luck,”

“Well, honestly,” the henchperson of indeterminate gender replied. “I’d argue that those brats are very lucky. They’ve been able to escape your clutches in the last minute quite a few times.”

“ Not all of them,” Olaf replied angrily, pointing at the rope that held the scarlet fish statue to the roof of his car. “And the only reason those bratty Baudelaires survived me prior to Prufrock Prep was because of Snicket. ” His voice was thick with bitterness and venom as he spoke the name.

“Speaking of Snicket,” Esme interjected. “What are we going to do about Jacques?”

“I swear Snickets were only put on this planet to piss me off,” Olaf muttered. “There’s no need to worry about him either, I’ll deal with him in the same way that I dealt with his precious brother. Snickets are not fireproof.,” He snickered to himself.

“Can I point out that not all Snickets piss you off,” Esme retorted bitterly.

“Stop mentioning her!” Olaf yelled.

“Who?” The Hook-Handed Man asked. “Violet?”

“No, not the fucking orphan….” Olaf rolled his eyes. “A different Snicket,”

“There’s a fourth Snicket?” the Bald man asked.

“Well technically if we’re going by birth order, that would make Violet the fourth Snicket,” The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender explained.

Olaf looked ready to kill somebody. “Can we just stop mentioning the fucking name Snicket!” he barked. “It’s bad enough that my plans were thwarted by Lemony and now...they’re being thwarted by his mangy daughter.”

“I think it’s quite remarkable,” The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender replied.

Olaf, no longer caring about the safety of anyone in his car, not that he did in the first place. “What was that you said?” he asked angrily, glaring his henchperson in the eyes.

His henchperson went quiet. Knowing better than to repeat what they had said. Olaf growled. “Once we find those brats again...we need a plan...a plan that can’t fail,” he muttered. “We have to make sure that there’s no way for her to maneuver her way out of our clutches. I’m getting really tired of chasing these brats,”

“Well we have two out of three fortunes,” Esme pointed out. “We really don’t need the last one and if you think about it. The Snicket fortune won’t be anything really. Think about it. With Lemony’s siblings both alive. Surely they have their own portions of the money.”

“It’s not only about the money,” Olaf replied annoyed. “And we have to keep chasing them. We have babylaire. Meaning the bookworm could cash in on my fortune a whole decade or so faster than us! With him dead, we won’t have to worry about that and there might be an added bonus to having little Miss Snicket in our clutches. She could give us both fortunes .”  A vicious smile was plastered on the man’s face.

Esme rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest in annoyance. “I’m already insanely rich. I don’t see why we need to keep any of them honestly.”

“You’re just grumpy because I haven’t agreed to let you keep the boy twin,”

“You don’t get to decide that,” Esme hissed. “Also, I just don’t see the reason to keep them for their money…I also don’t see why we  need to keep any that are related to that bitch,”

Olaf rolled his eyes.

“She looks like that bitch,” she whined. “Do you know how hard it was to not tear that little brat’s face from her skull?”

Olaf shrugged his shoulders. “Trust me, I am surprised you didn’t fuck up that part of the plan either.”

“I didn’t fuck up any part of your overcomplicated plan,”

“I know that little Snicket bitch did,” Olaf said angrily. “But...soon...we will have her in our clutches and we will show no mercy,”

He continued to drive as he began laughing. Esme joined in on this laughter and soon the whole car erupted in wicked villainous laughter.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Esme asked after a minute. “There’s nothing like a trip in a getaway car. I needed a getaway from that dirty, grimy city and all the people after me there.”

Olaf glanced up at the rearview mirror and he noticed something in the distance. “Don’t look now,” he instructed. “But it looks like someone’s following us,”

Instantly everyone in the car looked back to see what Olaf was talking about. Olaf sighed and rolled his eyes. “I said don’t look,” he muttered. “Oh, nevermind.”

“Oh, no,” Esme said happily. “Is it the paparazzi? Or the press?” she gasped. “Or my husband...his lawyers have been calling.”

“It’s a taxi about a mile back. He’s been behind us an interminably long time,” the Hook-Handed man explained.

Olaf glared at this henchman. “You didn’t think to mention someone is following us!?” He asked angrily.

The man shrugged in response. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise?”

“Is it the police?” The bald man asked.

“Why would the police take a taxi?” Esme asked.

“Whoever the fuck it is, they seem to be obeying the speed limit,” the bald man responded.

Olaf grumbled. “There’s only one taxi driver I know who cares about obeying the law,” he says. “There used to be two...but…” he smirked. “I took care of that pesky asshole,” he pushed his foot on the pedal harshly. “There’s a shortcut up here someplace. Let’s see Snicket try to follow us now,”

He jolted the car quickly to the left causing everyone to shift to the side. Olaf continued to gradually pick up speed.

_________________________________________________________________

“He just made a left-hand turn without signaling,” Olivia noted as Jacques sighed.

“That man’s villainy knows no bounds,” Jacques explained. “But we’ll catch up soon,”

“Do you think following him is the best plan here?” Olivia asked.

“What else can we do?”

“Do you think we can figure out where he’s going and get ahead?”

Jacques thought about it. “There’s not much down this road. The Hinterlands has a few VFD locations but I know he wouldn’t dare step foot in our mountainside headquarters.”

“Mountainside headquarters?” Olivia repeated.

“Yeah,” Jacques replied. “My...apprentice created an easy to read map. It’s there in the glove compartment.”

“Apprentice?”

“Yeah, a fellow volunteer.”

“Where are they?”

“I had to leave them...my niece was...more important,” He felt guilty saying it but it was true. Nothing against the young man who was his apprentice. “I will head back for him...eventually.”

Olivia looked towards Jacques. “What?” he asked.

“You’re hiding something,”

“I’m not hiding anything,” he lied.

Olivia reached into the glove compartment pulling out the map. She studied it for a minute. “I’m lost,”

Jacques laughed. “So much to learn Olivia Caliban,”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Where’s the headquarters?”

“Do you see the coffee stain?”

“Yeah...it’s in the Valley of Four Drafts,”

“Exactly...VFD,”

Olivia gasped. “A secret way to mark…”

“A secret organization,” Jacques finished. “Exactly. But he’d never go there. It’s most definitely populated by members of our side of the schism,”

“Then where would he be heading?” she asked.

“Well, there’s a village, a hospital, and a carnival before the headquarters. The carnival is the only truly VFD associate stop. I mean the hospital has the Library of Records and the village is named VFD...but not the same VFD.”

“Like the doilies?” Olivia said.

“That clever bastard...he knew everyone involved would be focused on the box labeled VFD.” Jacques hissed. “And we all missed the literal red herring…but...he’s not going to outsmart us anymore.”

“Well let’s head toward the carnival,” Olivia suggested.

Jacques merely shook his head. “I think I know where my niece might be headed…” he said. “We’ll just have to call Jacquelyn and figure all the details out.”

Olivia frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

Jacques only nodded. He continued to drive with a face of pure determination. He had to stop Olaf and Esme Squalor from harming any of these orphans more than he already has.

_____________________________________________________________

Hours had passed by, Olaf was unpleased about having to double back but this is where his associate claimed Violet and Klaus would end up eventually. As he had parked his car behind the dusty old saloon. He sighed as he entered through the backdoor. He remembered his ‘glory days’ back when he was still in VFD. The missions he had gone on with the Snicket brothers. Speaking of Snicket he was glad to have lost him only a few moments after being told that he was following. He glanced around the bottom floor of the old saloon. It seemed like no one had been in this place for years.

Esme followed him behind gazing around. “This saloon is the perfect place to hide out while we hunt the bratty orphans,” Olaf commented.

Esme merely nodded until her eyes fixed on a fire pole. “OOh! There’s a pole!” she said happily grabbing onto it. “Are you sure this isn’t more of a club?” she asked excitedly.

“That’s a fire pole, love.  This saloon was a firehouse until it was shut down under mysterious and complicated circumstances.” He glanced around. “I see they haven’t changed the decor a bit. Barkeep!”

His group of vile henchmen came in from the front door carrying a large trunk of costumes and a disguise kit.

All seven people turned when they heard a loud coughing approaching.

“That sounds like that unstylish banker,” Esme whispered.

Olaf’s eyes widened a bit. “That’s because it is,” he hissed back as the seven villainous people ran towards the bar to hide behind it.

“Hello?” the voice called out as it stopped coughing. Olaf quickly grabbed a hat that was hooked on the wall just behind the bar as Esme handed him the first fake beard she could grab out of their disguise kit. He quickly put the scraggly, red beard on his face as one of his associated handed him a fake pair of glasses.

“Anybody here/’ Mr. Poe called out in between more coughs.

“Howdy!” Olaf called out in a stereotypical southern accent. “What can I get you, total stranger who I’ve never seen before?”

“I would like your coldest and strongest sarsaparilla,”

“One sarsaparilla coming up!’ Olaf replied as he reached his hand down towards the bar. Within seconds someone had handed him a sarsaparilla. “Here you go,” Olaf said to Mr. Poe as teh man began to look at him suspiciously.

“So, tell me, traveler,” Olaf began still using the fake voice. “What brings you to our parts? How was the road? Did you bring any childrens?”

“I am delighted to tell you that Lilac Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire are now yours,”

Olaf smiled towards Mr. Poe in disbelief. “Well, that was easy,” he muttered using his real voice. Then his face turned to one of confusion. “Wait...Lilac? Isn’t her name Violet?” he asked as he felt someone hit him in the leg.

He growled and once he had seen Poe’s confused face he realized he had misspoken. “I mean...what do you mean?” he asked after a rather anxiety-inducing moment of silence. He wondered what Mr. Poe was about to say. Had he fucked up and been too obvious even to the world’s most incompetent banker?

Mr. Poe smiled. “They are yours and everyone else’s. I’ve delivered them to this town’s aphorism-based guardianship program, It Takes a Village.”

Olaf couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know how but his associate who resided further into the Hinterlands was correct again about where his prey would end up. He wiped his smile off his face quickly, though. Playing up the sad story. He sighed. “I always wanted orphans,” he said as Poe began to drink his sarsaparilla. He began to over-dramatically fake cry. “This morning, I thought I was just a lonely, single bartender and now I have a fortune of childrens, or whatever a word is for a large number of ‘em.” He said as he continued to fake cry.

Mr. Poe may have looked at him suspiciously but he didn’t question the bartender further. He finished his sarsaparilla, paid Olaf, and went on his day. Once he was sure the nuisance banker was gone, Olaf ripped the fake beard from his face. A wicked smile appeared upon his face. “The remaining two brats are here. They’ve been placed under the care of the entire village.”

“We know, darling,” Esme reminded him. “We heard. We were next to you, behind this dusty bar.”

He pointed at the bald man and the hook-handed man. “You, bring me the red herring.” He glanced at the two white-faced women. “you two, bring me all of my trunk wine!”

His henchpeople quickly scrambled. The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender following the bald man and the Hook-Handed man to go grab the red herring. Olaf glanced around. This hideout will have to do. He thought as he began plotting a scheme. He needed a scheme that would help him get the upper hand permanently on the two brats who keep evaded his clutches. He also needs this scheme to have room for last-minute changes in case Snicket returned to mess up his plans.

The three henchpeople returned, carefully placing the red herring to the ground. “That fish weighs as much as three kidnapped children,” the Hook-Handed Man said, he and the other two were currently out of breath.

Esme and Olaf smirked as they glanced at one another. “It certainly does,” Olaf snarled.

“They’re awfully quiet still,” the Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender noted. “Should we have added more air holes?”

“Ugh, they’re fine,” Olaf said dismissively.

“It might have been a high dosage,” Esme noted.

“Not enough to kill them,” Olaf agreed.

“Well I didn’t really measure the baby’s,” Esme explained shrugging her shoulders.

“Eh, she’s replaceable,” he dismissed. He turned to his henchpeople, “Now, Snicket may still be following us, we'll need to stash them somewhere less conspicuous,”

“Less conspicuous than a bright red statue of a fish?” The Hook-Handed Man replied confused. “That shouldn’t be too hard,”

Olaf's eyes lit up. “I have just the place.” He smiled. “Now, while we’re here, we can’t risk being recognized by the authorities.” He turned to Esme. “Darling you’re up.”

“Costumes! Costumes everyone!” Esme cheered as she opened the large trunk tossing costumes at each of the henchmen. Pulling out one for herself. ‘We’ll work on yours later darling. You may want to lay low,”

He nodded. “Now this is a small town filled with regular folk. We need to blend in with plain, normal, upstanding, heartfelt, decent, simple, dependable, respectable people.” He noted.

As he spoke, two figures on the second story of the saloon were hiding and listening in on everything Olaf and his gang were saying. One was slightly worried but the other looked determined and fed up. Both looked at one another, agreeing with their eyes to wait until the coast is clear to exit the saloon.

_________________________________

Violet led Klaus down a small hallway until she found a door that read Town Hall. She knocked her fist on the door.

‘Come in!” called a very grand voice called out. Violet took Klaus’ hand and the two half-siblings walked into a large room with a  very high ceiling, a very shiny floor, and several rows of benches. There were very detailed portraits of crows hanging on the walls. In front of the rows of benches, there was a wooden platform. Perched in front of the platform were three vastly older persons, two women and one man. The two children noticed that they all wore a truly strange hat. At first glance, it looked like a few crows had flown in from the streets and roosted on the bench sitters’ heads, but as the two children looked more closely, they saw that the crows did not blink their eyes, or flutter their wings or move at all in any way.  The children realized that they were taxidermied crows that perch on their heads. It was a strange kind of hat to be wearing that the children found themselves staring for quite a few moments without noticing anything else.

“The Council of Elders calls this special town meeting to order. Hello, my dears,” the first one called out as Violet and Klaus walked closer to them as the townpeople glared at them.

“We’re pleased you made it,” the second old woman called.

“Step onto the platform so your Elders can get a good look at you,” the man explained.

Violet and Klaus looked at one another before stepping onto the platform. “Hello, I’m Violet Snicket and this is my younger brother…”

“Silence!” one elder yelled, slamming her gavel down.

Klaus jumped in shock. “Rule number 902 states that no one may talk while on the platform,”

The three turned to focus mainly on Klaus. “Klaus Baudelaire, we know your story well. The tragic death of your parents. The tragic kidnapping of your baby sister. The unfortunate loss of numerous guardians. How you have been pursued relentlessly by a wicked count out to steal your fortune.” They turned to Violet. “And Violet Snicket, we heard about the tragic loss of your father and how you have also been pursued relentlessly by a wicked count out to steal your fortune. But your troubles end here.”

Violet and Klaus looked at one another doubtfully. “We recently made up a new rule to solve all your problems,” the elder man explained.

Violet gave an incredulously look. While Klaus still looked at the three elders with heavy doubt in his eyes.

“We recently made up a new rule to solve all your problems,” one of the women explained. “Rule number 9,833 states no villains will be allowed within the city limits.”

“You’re safe at last children,” the man noted.

“Council of elders…” Violet began.

“Silence!” they yelled.

“I don’t think…” Klaus began.

“Silence!” they yelled again.

“But Count Olaf…” Klaus tried again as Violet looked annoyed.

“Silence!” they yelled again.

“Now the next order of business. When children have guardians, guardians make them do chores. We are all your guardians now,” one of the women began.

“So it follows that you two will be doing all of our chores,” the man explained.

“For the entire village,” the other woman finished.

“What?” Violet asked.

“Silence!”

The two children looked at one another miserably, and they could hear the town behind them cheering.

“Any questions,” one elder asked.

“I beg your pardon, but,” violet tried.

“Silence!” they yelled. “For the fifth time!”

“How many times do we have to tell you about rule number 902?”

“What we meant was, are there any questions from the town?”

A few hands shot up. “Mrs. Morrow?”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Morrow asked. “I am all in favor of the ‘It Takes a Village’ program and others doing my chores. But these children are the same children involved in that kidnapping scandal. I don’t want trouble like that in my town.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Klaus explained.

“Silence!”

“It was more of a statement,” Mrs. Morrow replied glaring at the young boy.

“Me, me,” a man called out raising his hand.

“Man in plaid pants?”

“Yes, I have an actual question,” he said standing up. “Where are these children going to live? It may take a village to raise a child, but I don’t want noisy children cluttering up my home, eh?” He looked around the townspeople. “Am I right?”

The town murmured in agreement and they all began to wonder where Violet and Klaus would be placed.

“Silence!” the elders yelled at the crowd. “Now there’s no need to fuss. The orphans will live with our handyman, Hector.”

“Isn’t that right, Hector?” the elder man asked.

A tall, skinny man in rumpled overalls stood up from his seat. He kept his eyes on the ground. He began to stutter in response. “I...uh,”

“Hector?”

Hector responded to the Council of Elders by fainting. Violet and Klaus looked at each other worriedly. But no one else seemed alarmed by Hector’s fainting spell.

“The Council of Elders takes Hector’s latest fainting spell to mean Hector will feed them and clothe them and teach them our rules, so they won’t do any other terrible things like talking on the platform! Isn’t that right, Hector?”

Violet and Klaus looked back to see that Hector was once again standing up. He continued to look to the ground and he stuttered again. “I...uh...I…” He said before fainting again.

“The Council hears no objections,”

“The next item of business, a report from our new chief of police.”

Everyone turned to look towards the door that the two orphans had entered not ten minutes ago. Violet and Klaus glanced back and when the woman behind the door pushed both doors roughly open, Klaus could feel his heart sink in his chest.

“Already?” he asked Violet.

“He’s here?” Violet whispered.

A very tall woman wearing big black boots, a blue coat with a shiny badge, and a motorcycle helmet with the visor pulled down to cover her eyes. Her mouth was painted in bright red lipstick. “Ciao!” she yelled as she walked down the same pathway the two children had. “Hello! I’m here,” she said happily.

The woman had the entire crowd fooled but she didn’t have either orphan fooled. Violet gently pushed Klaus behind her. Both children watched as Esme Squalor reached the platform. She smiled at both children viciously.

“How wonderful to see you, children,” she hissed lowly as the crowd’s cheers drowned her voice out. She pushed Klaus out of her way as she stepped upon the platform. He grunted in response. Violet glared at the woman. Esme turned towards the two orphans. “Oh how my boyfriend and I have missed you,” she hissed.

Violet and Klaus looked at one another as Esme turned to the crowd. “Greetings VFD. My name is Officer Sabrina Pepper Anastasia Marigold. But you may call me Officer Luciana,” she turned to the children. “The new chief of police.”

She smirked viciously at the two children who looked at one another worriedly. Both having the same thought. If Esme was right here in front of them...dressed up as a policewoman. Where were the Quagmires and Sunny? And what in the world was Olaf planning?

[et-in-cinerem-reverteris]

Class of 1953 - Chapter 1 - Hatful of Hollow (3.7k)

“Will you be... here, next Thursday? Same time, same place?”

“Oh, er, yes, we meet here every week,” Phil stutters, “the photography club, that is. We meet here on Thursdays. Weekly.”

“Alright,” the boy laughs softly, “I’ll see you then”.

I am proud proud proud to announce that the first chapter of my DNP Oxford Au is finally here! It is my baby, my child - I have been working on it for weeks!

Read on AO3 here!!

Or, on Tumblr down below :)

Chapter 1

"Philip! Glad you could make it old chap." 

Bright lights flood into Phil’s vision as he adjusts to the blinding white glare of the overhead lamps. Every Thursday, the 5 members of Oxford University’s photography club meet in a small, dusty room in Keble College, where they spend many hours developing prints, sharing successful shots, but mostly just fooling around together as they take a break from the stresses of Oxford’s intense academic atmosphere. Currently inside the room are the founders of the club; John, a stocky blond maths student with blue eyes and ruddy cheeks, stands a metre or two away from Bill, a lean, gangly physics student whose pale hands are currently adjusting the dials on what appears to be a shiny new camera. Phil puts his leather satchel on the table, and rummages inside it for a roll of film that’s in there...somewhere. 

Bill clears his throat.

“As you may have guessed by now, we can only assume that Mary and Beth are engaged in more exciting activities once again this week” he sneers, raised eyebrows betraying a mocking, yet joking intent.

The three boys chuckle in unison. Phil glances over the table, studying Bill more closely.

“Blimey, is that the new Zeiss-Ikon Contessa?”

A smirk twinges on Bill’s lips as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his reddening nose, carefully conceiving his growing embarrassment. 

“It was a gift from John. I tried to tell him that he didn’t have to, but he absolutely insisted,” he replies, swiveling round to face the boy behind him. “You shouldn’t have, honestly John. You do spoil me.”

The blond turns round and smiles, giving Bill a tender punch to the shoulder. “Oh William, it was really nothing” he attests, before twisting away to turn his attention back to fixing a small lamp.

‘William’? Phil had never heard anyone call Bill by his full name before! As he glances back at over, he notices a blush spread over Bill’s previously pallid cheeks. The relationship between the modest, restrained physics geek and the confident, amiable mathematics whizz was an enduring mystery. Making a mental note to keep an eye on the pair (purely to make sure that nothing out of the ordinary was happening, of course...), Phil turns once more to his satchel and pulls out a roll of film he’s planning to develop in today’s session. Before he manages to do this however, giggling erupts from a nearby corridor.

“Alas! The latecomers arrive at last” declares the bespectacled brunette, still poring over his camera. As the sound gets nearer, the laughing hushes to a stifled whisper as two figures appear at the open doorway.

“Having fun are we ladies?” 

“Oh, put a sock in it you old fart” quips the taller of the two, ignoring Bill’s steely eyes as she strides towards the table and sets a heavy black bag onto the floor with a clunk. 

“Evening everyone! Sorry we’re late” Beth says with a warm grin as she shrugs off a grey duffle coat, hangs it up on the dark, wooden door and turns towards the table, rubbing her hands together to defrost them. 

“What were you up to?” Phil asks nonchalantly, rising from his seat to search some cupboards for trays to develop his film in.

“Beth and I were... in the library, writing an essay. You know, the err, one that’s due soon” answers Mary.

“You mean the draft on Early Medieval Literature? Wasn’t that only set yesterday?”

Mary shoots a glance at Beth.

“Draft, essay - what difference does it make? Anyway, these things take time, and I’ve always thought that it’s good to get on top of something like an essay” she replies, hand on hip as her grey eyes squint dubiously. 

Bill shifts in his seat. “I can think of someone you were getting on top of.”

“Cheeky git! I’m keeping an eye on you” Mary retorts, striding to the other side of the room to bury her blushing face in a sea of dusty wooden cupboards. “And you John, for that matter.”

This night sure has opened his eyes! Smirking to himself, Phil turns his attention to his own set of cupboards. Aha! The empty trays have been found.

“Hey John, Mary - I’ve got the trays for the stop baths” he announces, handing them over to the former. 

As he does this, the two girls have already reunited, huddled in a corner of the room as they whisper and snigger to themselves about something or other. At 5’10” Mary towers over Beth, who is a good 6 inches shorter. As they exchange a glance, Phil contemplates how different the pair look despite existing hand in glove. A flash of red lipstick spreads over Mary’s wide smile as she sweeps a strand of long, dark hair away from her angular face, looking fondly at Beth who beams up at her with brown eyes twinkling under a long auburn fringe. Phil has known Mary since secondary school; she has always been pale - ghostlike, even - taller than most of the boys and more intelligent than them too. Her quick wit proved to be essential in fending off unwanted comments from overeager private school twits, which she was often the unfortunate recipient of. Known for her harsh tongue when it came to the male sex, Phil was apprehensive when first approached by her in an English class many years ago, only to be quickly reassured by the fondness she gave to those she took a shine to.  “We’re the same, me and you,” she announced almost uncomfortably soon after they had broken the ice, “I can sense it.” Phil had never figured out what exactly she had meant by this, but he had the feeling that here was a girl who truly had his back for years to come. 

“God damn this tap! The water’s bloody well cut off again. One would assume that Oxford University would have a better plumbing system than this” John bemoans, wrinkling his blonde brows in frustration. “Phil, would you be a dear and fetch a jug for us?”

“Yeah s-”

“We’ll go!” exclaim the girls with a questionable amount of excitement, barely waiting for a reply before dashing out of the room arm in arm. 

John frowns for the second time. “O-kay. Guess that one’s sorted then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Half an hour passes, and there is still no sign of either the water, or the girls who volunteered to retrieve it. Slightly exasperated, Phil offers to be the second party to set out in search of the all-important liquid as he’s fairly certain he knows of a working tap in some room or other from across the Liddon Quad. Putting on his woolen coat and grabbing the largest water-vessel in sight, he frantically tries to rack his brains for the room in question as he prepares to brave the winter cold. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scurrying across the Quad, Phil plunges his hands into silk-lined pockets as the icy wind nips at his pale face. As he drinks in his crepuscular surroundings, his eyes fix upon the red brick checkerboard of Keble College’s Victorian chapel, the beauty of which is enough to reduce his previous flight to a mere stroll. He gazes at the building in awe - stained glass windows emit a warm, inviting glow as metal crosses glisten like stars against the black night, and the scene is straight out of the decadent Gothic novellas he loves to pore over in his spare time. Although he’s been at Oxford for a couple of weeks now, there are still times where Phil is struck by the romance of the place, creating pools of emotion inside his chest that well up and threaten to bubble over. Tonight is one such night. He sighs to himself, content and calm.

After reeling around the quad’s fountain for a minute or two, he belatedly approaches the open chapel door. As he does so, his ears catch the sound of people speaking - not only are they speaking, but if Phil’s knowledge of Shakespeare is correct, they are acting. Without giving a single thought to his aquatic assignment, he climbs up the steps, treading softly to conceal the sound of his presence, and steals around the doorway to the entrance of the chapel where he comes across a dozen or so students stood close to the altar, scripts in hand, eyes on page. Their voices echo around the stone walls, dancing from floor to ceiling. He listens in.

“...see your son:

Towards him I made, but he was ware of me

And stole into the covert of the wood:

I, measuring his affections by my own,

That most are busied when they're most alone,

Pursued my humour not pursuing his,

And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me”

So it was Shakespeare! A tender nostalgia washes over him as he reminisces upon his own memories of studying Romeo and Juliet many years ago. And what splendid surroundings to rehearse in! Lofty ceilings bounce words from pew to pulpit, as low lamps give golden mosaics a magic sparkle. Leaning against the old wooden door, Phil focuses on the students, with one in particular catching his eye.

“My noble uncle, do you know the cause?”

The boy playing Benvolio is... a handsome devil, to put it plainly. Phil notices the way he speaks with such fervour, such infectious vigour, and a passion which tugs at the heartstrings and fills one’s soul with a pathetic sense of hope. His tie is pulled awry on a shirt unbuttoned, green jumper sitting loosely around his neck. Phil’s heart flutters ever so slightly to see someone who is evidently as fond of Shakespeare as he is, and for a reason unbeknownst to him, becomes fixed in a kind of trance, observing the boy as he delivers his lines.

Phil had known that he was “queer” from a relatively young age. He had heard the word uttered under hushed tones between his parents as they discussed relatives, family friends, celebrities, or indeed anyone whose campiness stuck out sorer than the lacquered nails on an East-End boy down in the dole-house. But Phil didn’t wear makeup, and he didn’t sound like a woman, and he didn’t spend his time discussing boys with his female classmates. What he did have however, was one fateful family holiday at a beach in Corfu.

It was a torrid, languid, lethargic day, and another year spent back at the old house in Greece. The sun beat down in waves, burning Phil’s pasty skin as brother Martyn shoveled sand onto his feet. The summer reading he had brought with him wasn’t tickling his fancy right now, and Martyn’s japery was beginning to get tiresome. He sighed, staring out towards the vast expanse of clear azure water. As he pondered over ways to alleviate his boredom, a delicious, impulsive desire to indulge in mischievousness began to trickle into his veins, filling him with all sorts of ideas. He rises from his spot on the towel.

“I’m going for a walk. I shouldn’t be too long.”

His mum looks up from her book and squints, shielding her eyes from the sun while simultaneously expressing amazement that her youngest son is actually choosing to do physical exercise.

“Okay, stay safe poppet. Oh - and be back before three o’clock!”

After an hour or so of traipsing across rocks and traversing through trees, he eventually arrives at a secluded alcove on top of a steep stretch of warm rocks, away from tourists, facing a small bay with not a soul in sight.

Laying down on the smooth stone he places his head under the shade of a tree branch, feeling the caress of the sun on his bare chest as a slight breeze tickles the prepubescent hairs on his abdomen. He closes his eyes, wind tracing the surface of his skin. 

Finally, peace at last. 

A brief slumber is interrupted by talking coming from below the rock face. Sluggish after basking in the lazy heat, he takes a moment to opens his eyes and crawl over to the side of the rock, peering gingerly over the edge to investigate.

A man has wandered into the bay, with a woman by his side.

As they talk together, Phil’s eye meanders over the man’s body. He is blond, he is tall, his stance is confident, and the muscles on his back ripple as he stretches his golden hands towards the sky before landing on his toned waist. Peeping Tom is mesmerised. The man checks his watch, and the couple turn their heads as if looking out for someone before coming together for an embrace as they stand watching the waves crash on the bay. 

Phil stares on.

There’s something about the way the man’s body presses against the woman’s back. There’s something about the way his hands wind around her waist, smooth over her chest, and briefly wrap around her neck. There’s something about it, conjuring up a feeling that Phil has never experienced before, something that feels heavy in his ribcage. 

The woman turns her head and taps her partner on the shoulder, pointing at the rocks just beyond Phil. Damn! Heart racing in fear, he ducks behind a bush, blushing furiously and wincing as his feet land on a sharp stone. Through the leaves he sees an olive-skinned man with dark, curly hair appear from the side of the colossal boulder, stepping towards the couple as the woman pries herself from the embrace and runs towards the newcomer, landing into a hug that sweeps her off her feet and swings her in the air as she laughs. The hug endswith a hand around the waist, a brief peck on the lips.

Phil adjusts his glasses. Was he mistaken, or did he just see this lady go from fondly embracing one man to sharing a kiss with another? The pair links arms and stroll towards the first man, who fiddles with the hem of his tight navy swimming trunks as he beams back at them. The dark haired fellow opens his arms, and shouts a few words in Greek to the blond man.

“Είσαι τόσο όμορφος, χρυσέ μου!”

A slap on the back, a playful punch - and then they too lean in for a kiss.

Not a peck on the cheek. Not a swift gracing of the lips. Phil is fairly certain that this is the act that the boys back at boarding school have described using the word “French”. But two men…? Phil takes in a deep breath. Shuffling out from under the shrub, he brushes some leaves off from his trunks, only to freeze in confusion when he feels something hard underneath.

He looks at the trio below him, then back down at his shorts, before looking back to double check that he’s alone.

It would be terribly, terribly awkward if someone caught him m-

“Splendid job everyone, I could really feel the intensity tonight. Let’s call it here. Oh, and remember - we haven’t got long now until the real thing!”

Snapping back to reality, Phil adjusts his eyes to see actors and actresses put down their scripts and begin talking to each other, evidently weary, but animated nonetheless. He searches once more for the boy playing Benvlio, immediately managing to locate him. 

They lock eyes. 

The boy is staring directly at him! 

In a flash, the lad looks away and resumes his conversation with the girl next to him, who hoists a long brown coat over her shoulders, preparing for the winter cold that Phil has just emerged from. Cripes! Turning away rapidly as his heart thumps in his chest, he decides that it’d be best to evacuate the chapel before the situation becomes ever so slightly awkward. A hot flush creeps over his cheeks and the flutter in his bosom amplifies. The image of the boy’s brown eyes repeats in Phil’s mind as approaches the ancient wooden door. 

Damnit. 

In an unexpected burst of confidence, he whips his head around before leaving, and sure enough he is met with those same brown eyes that make him feel like melting right then and there. Panicking, fumbling and stumbling, he dashes out of the portico, heart racing and nerves alive as he speeds across the quad. He checks his watch - nearly 8 o’clock. Forget this godforsaken water! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bill and John appear to be in a cheerful mood when Phil nervously slinks back into the photography room, and as such he is instantly forgiven for being the third person in one night to give up water collection in the name of secret romantic pursuits. Feeling guilty nonetheless, he volunteers to be the one to lock up the room for the night as compensation, enjoying the peaceful silence as he sees to the mess left behind.

He roams around the room, closing cupboards here, pulling in stools there. There’s a spatter of black ink on the table, no doubt left by Bill and his insistence on using a dip pen to write everything from letters, to classwork, to scribbled ideas on dog-eared notebooks. As he gets a cloth to wipe it up, Phil feels a soft sense of contentment as he reflects upon his new life here at Oxford. Secondary school was rotten, absolutely rotten; teased for being smart, teased for being tall, teased for wearing glasses, teased for any reason which made him he different to the brutish, snobbish bastards that ruled his school’s hierarchical roost. Before they can bubble up to the surface, Phill tries to quell those raw, rough memories, reminding himself that it’s in the past and he should be focusing on the present. He’s growing into his authentic self, he’s started dressing however he likes, he’s made genuine friends who he can talk to, he’s academically stimulated without the fear of being called a geek and, in time, maybe he’ll be able to express that part of his personality too. With a sigh, he throws Bill’s inky rag into the sink, puts John’s screwdriver into a drawer, tucks in the stool that Mary dragged out from the desk and picks up a pen that must have fallen out of Beth’s pocket. The peace in his chest leaves him with no doubt that he’s got everything now - no more fear of rejection, no horrible need for awkward explanations. Just friendship, companionship, and unspoken understanding. Blinking slightly more rapidly than usual, he cleans up the last of the mess.

*knock knock*

Mary and Beth? In the split second it takes him to turn around, Phil prepares a quip or two to tease them with.

To his surprise (and his horror), he is met with the sight of 'Benvolio' leaning against the open door, arms folded, ankles crossed, sly smirk plastered onto his mischievous face.

"You could have just come in if you wanted to, you know. We don't bite."

Phil’s heart races and his stomach sinks at the realisation of what’s happening. It was bad enough that he’d been caught staring by the object of his admiration, but multiple times? And now said object is here, standing in the doorway, smirking at him? Phil can’t help but hungrily consume the face opposite him. Tousled chestnut curls flop onto strong brows that sit intentionally indifferent, trying to appear nonchalant, but with such purposeful neutrality that he betrays a sense of impatience - desperation, even. Freckles speckle his cheeks like stars that lie next to petal pink lips.

The handsome devil chuckles at Phil's silence.

"Ah, apologies - quite rude of me not to introduce myself first. I'm Dan," the boy continues, " and um, we're putting on a production of Romeo and Juliet in a few weeks, if you want to come and see it" he offers, patches of his jaw flushing red.  

Phil blinks, unsure of what to say, and the young man’s eyes fall to the ground briefly before thrusting his large hands into trouser pockets.

"Sorry, perhaps I assumed that-"

"No, no, it's alright" Phil finally replies, desperate to stop the potential tragedy of this charming man leaving him forever, never to speak to him again. "That'd be great. I um, I really like Shakespeare."

The boy’s eyes flick upwards to meet Phil’s briefly before he nods, turning his vision towards the ground once again as he bites his lips together to stifle a smile. His eyes dance across the floor as if plucking up the courage to look back up at the blue eyed boy, which he does, thank God, for when their eyes lock together (and Phil swears it’s not his inner English student making him think this), it feels as if two worlds connect, two universes collide, two strings of the soul’s yarn reaching out and tying knots and weaving together, two hands meeting and fingers intertwining and feeling his knuckles and scars and hairs and prints that read like maps of the other person’s existence. It’s breathtaking. It’s almost too much.

The boy unleashes a grin, and Phil is so, so thankful, for when he does his entire face lights up like a candle burning in a dark attic, wide flash of white teeth and crinkled eyes brazen and clumsy like hot wax spilling and dripping down bare skin. They maintain their electrifying gaze. The other one sighs.

“Okay, fantastic. Dates are yet to be confirmed, but so far it’s looking to be some time after Michaelmas ends. I’ll er, I’ll let you know.”

“Great, yeah, I’ll come along!” Phil beams, drumming his fingers on the counter behind him. 

“Mmm.” Another moment of silence. “Will you be... here, next Thursday? Same time, same place?”

“Oh, er, yes, we meet here every week,” Phil stutters, “the photography club, that is. We meet here on Thursdays. Weekly.”

He curses himself for tripping over his words in front of someone who had spoken so confidently and so eloquently in the chapel. He takes in a deep breath, calming himself.

“Alright,” the boy laughs softly, “I’ll see you then”. In one swift movement, he pushes his back off the door frame, grabs the other side and swings himself off down the corridor, heels clacking on the tiles as he goes.

Buckling up his satchel, Phil strides out of the room, managing to catch the sight of ‘Dan’ speeding off down a flight of stairs. As he turns the lights off and shuts the door, he closes his eyes and exhales.

He checks his watch. Only 6 days, 23 hours and 38 minutes until he’ll be here next Thursday, same time, same place. He parades down the corridor, slight skip in his step.

Maybe he’ll get to explore that side of his personality a little sooner than he might have previously thought.

[dogbearinggifts]

Tattoos With Better Stories

Umbrella Academy

Author’s Note: Well, here we are—Part Three of a series that started as a single oneshot meant to fix the VFW scene and soon gained a sequel. If you haven’t read either of those, start with He Saw the Ghosts before moving on to Dead Ringer.  

Both are available on my AO3 account. 

Tagging: @timelesspromise 

Jim didn’t know what to make of the unnamed soldier’s expression. 

It wasn’t a whole smile, but it was near enough to one for Jim to wonder what might lurk behind it. Such a look wasn’t unexpected of a soldier in an active war zone, but there was something more about it, some strange contentment that kept it from sinking into despair. Not for the first time, Jim found himself searching the faces of the other men in his unit for any clue, no matter how small, that might force the facts in his head to fall into their proper places and form a picture clearer than the one before him. But no matter how long he looked, no matter how much the pit in his stomach urged him to look elsewhere, his gaze drifted back, again and again, to David Katz.

The quality of the photograph was par for the course, for its day—a middling caliber that was better than the worst and disappointing when placed alongside the best. Had it been a little less grainy, Jim was certain they’d have been able to make out the barest outlines of the soldier’s tattoos, distinguish a few features that might have separated the soldier in the photo from the veteran they knew. A little grainier, and the soldier would have been only somewhat clearer than most images of Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster, his resemblance to Klaus dismissed just as easily. 

Richard took a long pull from his soda, lowered it, and spoke for the first time in a good while. 

“What the hell?” 

Earlier

“Okay, so first you need to cast on a few stitches.” 

“Cast on.” 

“Right. What you’re gonna do is you’re gonna make a slipknot and put that over the needle.” 

“Which needle?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Klaus looked down at the two identical knitting needles in his lap. “Oh. Right.” He formed the knot easily enough and slipped it over one needle, holding it upright. “Now what?” 

“Now you need to make the first stitch.” 

From all Richard had relayed of his encounter with Klaus the night before, he’d never intended to give the younger man a personal knitting lesson. Plans to meet up with him at the library, to pull him into the circle and let him absorb suggestions and tricks from a group eager to teach had taken a blow when Klaus had called earlier that morning. “Said he couldn’t make it,” Richard had told Jim on their way to the shop. “Went on about how he’d tried to knit and couldn’t do it, so he couldn’t come, didn’t want to slow us down.” 

He’d also said Klaus had sounded as if he’d hoped to leave a message rather than speak to the person he’d called, but that was neither here nor there. 

“You’ll take one end of the yarn like this.” Richard lifted his own yarn to demonstrate. “And then lay it over top the rest to make a loop.” 

Klaus had to look back at the example once or twice, but he replicated it without trouble. 

“Now you’ll just slide the loop onto the same needle as the slipknot.” 

Jim glanced toward the cash register. Aimee shot him a smile before pretending to straighten an immaculate display of crochet hooks. Despite her age, she was an old hand around the shop, having been hired on the year before their knitting group outgrew the small meeting room and moved to the library. She still dropped by whenever night classes aligned to keep Thursdays free, bringing along her latest project and a story or two about her dog. 

Klaus tried lifting the loop and sliding it over the needle, as Richard demonstrated, but he hadn’t twisted it correctly and the loop disintegrated and he had to form it again. After a moment of frustration, he managed to slide his new loop down alongside the knot. 

“Great. Now you’ll just do that another eighteen times.” 

Klaus let out a puff of air that wasn’t quite a sigh, but might have been on its way to one. With care, he formed another loop, lifted it gingerly, and placed it on the needle. Richard nodded approval, and Jim’s gaze drifted back to the tattoo on Klaus’ bicep, to the words Sky Soldiers printed above the skull emblem. There were more letters inked in tiny font above, but Klaus’ sleeve kept getting in the way and they were too small for Jim to read from where he sat. 

Like the olive drab vest he wore, like the dog tags dangling against his shirt, the tattoo was just familiar enough to poke at memories ranging from bittersweet to unpalatable. There were a few sweet ones, sure, but war and time had a way of working in concert to change the flavor of those. Perhaps the words meant something different to Klaus, perhaps there was another reason he had chosen to have them inscribed on his skin, but to see it on a man so young sent a dozen questions bubbling to his mind, each more uncomfortable than the last. 

He looked to Richard, but if the man shared his misgivings, he didn’t show it. Jim traded a look with his friend, then spoke. 

“So Klaus. You from the city?” 

Klaus kept his attention on the next stitch he cast on. “Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I’ve always lived here, so I guess that’s where I’m from.” 

Jim had heard less conclusive answers. “So no military family for you.” 

He wasn’t expecting a laugh, let alone one with such a bitter edge. “Not like that, no.” 

No confusion crossed Richard’s face, but he did toss Jim a quick glance. Talk later, it said. Of Klaus, Richard asked: “So what made you decide to enlist?” 

Klaus hesitated, and that hesitation went on a little too long for Jim to believe he was simply concentrating on his knitting. “Just kinda….got thrown into it, I guess.” 

Jim nodded slowly. He’d heard that sentiment before, expressed a dozen different ways—from men who were drafted. Those who enlisted had longer stories, some inspiring and some less so, but they had stories. Reasons. Ideals that were confirmed and challenged, shattered and tested. There were exceptions, of course, but when there hadn’t been a draft in forty-six years, stories and reasons usually replaced uncertainty and bewilderment. 

He looked to Richard, trying to guess whether he should ask the kid where he’d served or leave that to his friend, but Klaus lifted his cast-on stitches for inspection. “Got it!” 

“Looks good,” Richard said, and Klaus smiled at the approval. “Now you’ll take your yarn like this….” 

He threaded the yarn around and between his fingers, and Klaus did the same, mimicking as Richard lifted his second needle and slid it into the first stitch. His fingers slipped a bit, missed the yarn the first couple times, but he managed. That smile resurfaced when Richard nodded encouragement. 

Jim knew better than to interrupt a novice knitter in the midst of his first uncertain stitches, so he cast about for something, some small and mundane task that might distance him from the questions tapping him on the shoulder. A glance at his watch told him it was a little late for one meal, a little early for the next—as good a time as any for a snack. 

“I’m gonna head down to the coffee shop on the corner,” he said, stretching. “You guys want anything?” 

“Ooh! They still have those breakfast sandwiches, with the sausage and egg on a biscuit with all that melty cheese?” 

“I’m sure they do.” Jim had expected a little more hesitation from Klaus, but the younger man’s enthusiasm brought a smile. “You want anything, Rich?” 

“Just coffee.” 

Jim stood, but before he’d gotten completely to his feet, a familiar glint of steel against Klaus’ shirt caught his eye. The letter K was up where the surname belonged, but that only proved this Klaus wasn’t a Hargreeves, so he read further. 

What the hell? 

For a long moment, Richard’s words hung in a silence filled by low chatter and Tom Petty’s voice filtering through the speakers: Somewhere, somehow, somebody must’ve kicked you around some...

“You heard what he said.” 

Jim nodded. He’d found Richard and Klaus mid-conversation, but he’d caught enough to stop in his tracks and listen. “Maybe he’s just read more books than most.” 

“But why Vietnam?” 

“Could just like military history.” 

Richard shook his head at the photo. “World War Two’s the one everybody wants to learn about. Vietnam’s the one they want to forget.” 

After a halfhearted search for a counterpoint, Jim gave up. “Was he…” 

Richard met his gaze. 

“From the sound of it, he knows a lot about what the 173rd was up to. He talk about anything else? Overall strategies, basic timeline, any other shit that makes it into those books?” 

“Not much.” He paused in thought. “Actually... I’d have to check the dates, but I don’t think he brought up anything outside of ‘68 or ‘69.” 

Jim took another swig of beer, hoping it would quell his unease. Most amateur historian types liked to study everything, and they’d talk your ear off about anything that occurred within their eras of interest. A self-described WWII buff had spoken about D-Day, the myriad faults in Hitler’s strategies, the American and English home fronts, and scientific advances courtesy of wartime technology. Not all historians were like that; some had a narrower range. But when a particular era sparked their interest, many of those who made research a hobby became intellectual magpies, snatching up every halfway interesting fact for their ever-growing collections. 

“How the hell’d Vietnam come up, anyway?” 

“He asked where I’d served.” 

Klaus should have fielded the question first. He was the mystery, after all, the one who had walked into a room full of strangers to sob over a man fifty years gone. Even if he didn’t care to discuss what he remembered, he should have at least mentioned where he’d been. “He say where he served?” 

“Never got to that, no. But he talked an awful lot about Vietnam.” 

Jim lapsed into silence again. What he’d seen of that talk, of the look Klaus had worn as he spoke, was enough to make him want to down the rest of his beer, grab another, and head out on the town long enough to put Klaus and the unnamed soldier and everything in between out of his mind. Researchers, amateur historians, history buffs—whatever you wanted to call them, most of them bore a certain expression when their favorite era surfaced in conversation. Their eyes lit up, their faces softened as if in preparation to smile. Some talked with voices pitched higher in excitement; some talked with their hands as well. It had repulsed Jim at first, seeing them discuss the Second World War as if a conflict that had left blood and bodies strewn across a ruined landscape was the plot of a popular film they longed to see again. It wasn’t his war, but it was still a war. Even after reminding himself that what they knew of it was cold facts on a page, old posters and stories collected years after surrenders were made and victories declared, he couldn’t say their enthusiasm set him at ease. 

When Klaus spoke of Vietnam, of battles fought years before his time and a war ended decades before his birth, there was no light in his eyes. No eagerness, no sharpened interest, no horror or shock. He responded to Richard’s stories with somber nods and words, but not surprise. He’d shared no anecdotes of his own; any facts he’d named had been in the form of questions—were you here, were you there, did you see this go down or were you wrapped up in a different shitshow—but Jim had seen the look in his eyes, heard the subtle catch in his voice before. It was a question, a plea for recognition. 

You’ve been to hell. Did you see what I saw? Do what I did? 

“You see his forearm?” 

Richard’s voice, quiet though it was, gave Jim a start, but it faded quickly. “Academy kids weren’t the only ones to get those tattoos.” 

Richard gave a slow nod, eyes on the photo. “Even if he is that Klaus, it doesn’t explain how he got the tags.” 

Katz, David. Jim saw the dog tags in his mind’s eye, as sharp and clear as if they sat before him, the name pressed into the metal and his memory. The man himself stood in the photo beside Klaus’ doppelgänger. 

“Might explain how he knew Katz, if he can talk to the dead.” 

“Doesn’t explain anything else.” 

Jim said nothing. Something had happened to Klaus—anyone who looked more than a second could see that. But a longer gaze and a while spent listening told a story, one set in a faraway jungle and filled with blood and the chatter of gunfire and awful lights blazing through the darkness—one Klaus was too young to know. One he heard with the solemn quiet of a man who had witnessed it. 

Scars are just tattoos with better stories. Jim wasn’t sure where he’d first heard that or how much stock he put in it, but it had stuck. But when those scars weren’t the kind you could show off to a retired Marine over a few drinks, when they were the sort that appeared only as ripples in a pond, there was no narrative. Only a jumble of events and details—a sobbing man and things he shouldn’t have known, tattoos with significance that ought to escape him—strung together in a manner that might have made sense in a fever dream, but nowhere else. 

“Could be a scam,” Jim said. To his relief, Richard shook his head almost immediately. 

“Tats are expensive.” 

“Research is free.” 

“You don’t learn what he learned without reading a shit-ton of books and old documents.” He took another sip. “Too much investment for too little payoff.” 

A similar thought had planted itself in Jim’s mind, but hearing it echoed allowed it to take root through the silence that followed. “He never asked for anything.” 

Richard looked to him; Jim saw him out the corner of his eye as he regarded the photo again. 

“Never asked for a goddamn thing. Not even help.”  

Richard nodded slowly, somberly, and Jim shut his eyes. All those disparate elements swirling around him, all those impossibilities played as fact, and that was what kept Jim from dismissing it all as a sick hoax played for profit. If there was profit to be gained, Klaus didn’t seek it. He only sought to carry what he’d brought back with him, even as the burden crushed him beneath its weight. 

The two of them stood in silence as the music played. 

“Never did track down everyone in his unit,” Richard said after a long minute. 

Jim nodded. The war had taken some and spared others, but those it spared weren’t shielded from death by other means. Others could have lived, but with their whereabouts unknown, they were no more able to name the soldier who appeared in their photo. 

“Got any other leads?” Jim asked. 

Richard drew a long breath. “There’s one guy. Tried contacting him a couple times, wound up getting put in touch with a friend of a friend. That trail might lead to a dead end for all I know….but it might lead somewhere.” 

Jim looked to the unnamed soldier again. All those years between the taking of the photo and Klaus traipsing into the bar, all those years spent trying to connect the man to a name, had culminated in a morning of knitting and a conversation that made no sense and too much sense. 

This lead, this man from Katz’s unit—as Richard said, it could be yet another dead end in a long string of dead ends. But if it wasn’t, if they could speak to a man who had served alongside the unnamed soldier, had talked with him and eaten with him and exchanged a hundred jokes with him that would have drawn gasps and looks of horror from anyone who didn’t spend their days marching from one battlefield to the next….

The thought brought a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, and Jim wasn’t sure if the two could be separated. 

“And if it doesn’t?” 

Richard regarded the photo again, and Jim couldn’t say whether his gaze went out to the unnamed soldier or to Katz. Maybe it had settled on the both of them.  

“Then I guess we’re back to square one.” 

Author’s Note: For anyone who’s curious, the song playing in the background is “Refugee” by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. 

[lovelylogans]

stings and stripes

pairings: moxiety (which is new for me, I think!)

warnings: it’s too gosh darn stinkin cute. food mentions, I think that’s it?

notes: do I have a ton of prompts sitting in my drafts? yes. do I have not one but two wips? yes. am I doing this anyway? YOU BET.

I’m at a reunion right now, and one of my baby cousins noticed one of the oldest cousins has her fav animal as a tattoo, and so now my older cousin is The Coolest Ever, and I also have a plot bunny. tagging @tinysidestrashcaptain, because obviously (funnily enough this isn’t the first little sides fic I’ve written, but it’s the first I’m publishing) ON WITH THE FIC!!!

Logan’s favorite place ever was the park just down the street.

That suited Patton just fine; it just meant that whenever he deemed that his son needed some fresh air and a distraction from his latest learning obsession, he’d propose a trip to the park and Logan was out the door before Patton could say “Get your shoes on.”

Patton wasn’t entirely sure why: Logan loved libraries, schools, an apiary Patton took him to once, but he’d never puzzled out why this park was so special in Logan’s mind. Logan’s usual ideal day was one with lots of jam sandwiches and lots of books—Patton still wasn’t sure where he’d inherited that from, but as long as Logan was happy, Patton was happy.

This was one such day: Logan had been deep in researching bumblebees for the thousandth time when Patton proposed a picnic, and Logan immediately agreed.

Logan and Patton walked hand-in-hand as Logan happily told Patton about the construction of apiaries and Patton tried his best to keep the picnic basket from whacking into anyone passing on the sidewalk. As soon as they laid eyes on the park, Logan was practically vibrating until Patton let go of his hand with a chuckle and a “go on, then,” and he was off like a shot, straight to the playground, mostly ignoring the other children. Patton watched him clamber up a ladder fondly, and with only a bit of worry. Logan wasn’t very personable—not quite shy, just uninterested in people unless he especially liked or disliked them. Another reason why the park’s idolization was a mystery.

Patton scouted out a bench, and found a decent one in the shade with a good view of the park, and he settled, splitting his attention between tracking Logan and reviewing course materials for the fall. When he glanced up from a list of books for the first semester, it was to Logan bee lining straight towards him, immediately grabbing his hand.

“Papa he has a bee,” Logan said breathlessly, tugging him off the bench, and immediately dragging Patton.

“I—who?” Patton said cluelessly.

“Him.”

That narrows it down, bud, Patton thought, before he asked, “How does he have a bee?”

Logan did not deign to explain, and Patton was about to ask him to use his words when they rounded the corner of the playground and Patton saw one of the most gorgeous men ever. Patton felt his knees go weak.

He had black hair that glinted in the sun, and a number of silver piercings that did too—in his ears, his eyebrows, his lip, his nose. The silver pointy studs on the shoulders of his leather jacket did, too, and he was smiling a little, only enough that someone really looking could see—out at the playground, at the kids running around.

Logan did not have time for Patton to gawk; another tug, and they were heading straight for that beautiful man.

“Here he is,” Logan said breathlessly. “Can I see it again?”

The really offensively handsome man smiled at Patton. “You’re his grownup?”

Patton smiled—vague enough to be inclusive, and clear that he’d asked Logan to get his grownup to make sure Logan was comfortable.

“I’m his father, yes,” Patton said, before extending a hand. “Patton Kassipoeg.”

“Virgil Sanders,” the man says with a nod, before kneeling to Logan’s height, shrugging his jacket so it slipped down his shoulders, and tilting his head.

He had a bee tattoo on the side of his neck. Amongst others, Patton noticed, seeing the swirls of color down his shirt, and stop staring Patton he could be married.

“Wow,” Logan breathed, reaching forwards.

“Ask, Lo,” Patton said, and the very pretty man—Virgil—smiled at Logan.

“It’s all right,” he said, “just be gentle.”

Logan touched at his neck, tracing the outline of the bee tattoo. It was a little doodle, yellow and black striped with dashes behind, forming a little heart. Patton could only guess there was another bee below the neckline.

“Did it hurt?” Logan asked, hushed, and the man shrugged one shoulder.

“A bit,” he said honestly. “Kind of like getting a shot at the doctor’s office. I’m kind of used to it, though.”

Patton wanted to see the tattoos. He wanted to see all of the tattoos. He immediately scolded himself for leering at a park, next to his own kid.

“Papa said his hurt too,” Logan said, and Virgil lifted one studded eyebrow at him.

“You got ink?”

Patton shrugged with a smile. “Rather not take my shirt off in the park, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course not,” Virgil said immediately. “Did you go to a studio round here?”

“Uh, Remy? Remy Spavati?”

Virgil made a noise of recognition. “I’m a tattoo artist, too,” He says. “Rem’s good. Neat linework. I’ve got a couple by him too.”

“DADDY,” a very loud little boy said, and Patton turned to see a boy—Logan’s age, he was guessing—reaching over to tug at Virgil’s leather jacket. “Show the coloring one!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Little brat,” he said, but his tone’s so fond it belied any of the harshness in his words. “Introduce yourself, please.”

The little boy puffed his chest out and held his hand out for Logan to shake. “Roman,” he said. Logan said his own name, and shook back with the kind of solemnity seen at business exchanges. Virgil shrugged off his leather jacket, revealing a tight purple t-shirt, and brandishing his (rather muscular) arms for Logan and Roman’s inspection.

Roman pointed proudly to one on Virgil’s forearm that Patton would wager was colored in with magic marker. “I colored that one,” he said to Logan.

“Meant for it to be just a black ink bit,” Virgil said to Patton, as Logan adjusted his glasses and looked closer. “Princey here has made it his personal coloring book.”

Roman gave his dad a toothy grin—Patton noticed a gap in his teeth.

“That’s cool,” Logan said immediately, and turned to Roman. “Wanna see something cool?”

“Yeah,” Roman enthused, and they dash off together, Patton blinking after them.

“Huh.”

“What?” Virgil asked, shrugging his jacket back on.

“It’s just,” Patton said, and shook himself. “Logan usually takes a bit to warm to people, that’s all.”

“Roman is the most extroverted person I’ve ever met,” Virgil said dryly, rising to his feet. “I really don’t know where he gets it from.”

“Logan’s going to be outreading me in two years,” Patton reassured Virgil, sticking his hands in his jean pockets so he wouldn’t do something impulsive, like reach out and touch the bee tattoo. “No idea where he got it.”

Virgil gives Patton that same little smile, the hard-to-find one. “None at all?”

“None at all,” Patton said with a sigh. “I mean, I’m a kindergarten teacher—“

“So that’s where I know the name Kassipoeg,” Virgil said, and then shook himself. “Sorry, sorry, I interrupted.”

“No, it’s okay,” Patton said, smiling. “I didn’t think I saw a Sanders on my fall list this year?”

“You didn’t,” Virgil said dryly. “I wish you did, though, you seem—“ he pauses.

Seem what? Patton wants to ask, but he clears his throat. “If he’s in Foley’s, he’s with Logan.”

Virgil let out a huff of air. “Okay, good,” he said.

Patton tried not to smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, and looked at him sideways. “It’ll be good to have a... friend. Amongst the parents. Sometimes they get nervous about,” Virgil said, and gestured to his whole being.

“Well, I’ll put a stop to it,” Patton said reassuringly, and cleared his throat. “Um. I’ve got a pretty good bench claim over there, if you—if you’d like to join me?”

Virgil smiled, a little wider. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

They’ve barely sat down for a minute before Logan and Roman come crashing out of the playground, skittering to a stop just short of the bench.

“Hey there,” Patton said. “Explore much?”

“Lots,” Roman enthused, and flopped down in the grass. Virgil nudged him gently with his boot.

“If it’s okay with you, Virgil, I have some extras in the picnic basket?” Patton said, digging through it. “If you like jelly sandwiches, that is.”

Roman’s head popped up from the grass as Logan settled primly on the ground. “I love jelly sandwiches! They’re my favorites!”

Logan turned to gape at Roman. “Mine too!”

“No way,” Roman said immediately, sitting up.

“Yes way,” Patton said, amused, handing each child a jelly sandwich. “Virgil, chicken salad, turkey and cheddar...?”

“I’ll take turkey? If you don’t mind,” he said hastily. Patton handed it over.

Patton learned a lot about Roman as they ate. He learned that Roman turned five just two months ago, that he’s going into kindergarten, that he’s seen every Disney movie ever, and he is VERY EXCITED! that Logan is going to be in his class.

“You should give Mr. Sanders your number,” Logan said, in the voice that meant he was trying to be sly, and took a bite of jelly sandwich. “So we can play together.”

Patton narrowed his eyes a little at his son, who’s too smart for his own good sometimes.

“Yeah,” Roman said brightly, in a voice that also probably meant he was trying to be sly but mostly sounded like he was being mischievous, “Dad, definitely give him your number.”

“You two could talk about stuff too,” Logan said, noncommittal.

Which Roman immediately ruined by blurting out, “Like how you’re both single and ready to mingle~!”

Patton felt his cheeks burn bright red. Virgil said calmly, “I’m going to kill your Uncle Rem. You spend too much time with him.”

“No I don’t,” Roman said with a wide grin, and stuck out his hand to Logan. “C’mon, Lo!”

“You were supposed to be subtle,” Logan complained, and as Roman dragged him away, he chirped, “I don’t know the meaning of the word!”

“He really doesn’t,” Virgil said, and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I’m—sorry, about him. He and Rem both have it in their heads that I’ve been single too long, and—“

Patton hesitated, before turned to face Virgil and he said softly, “You said. Earlier.”

Virgil has this look on his face, soft and guarded all at once. “Yeah?”

“That I seemed something,” Patton prompted. “Seemed like what?”

Virgil’s cheeks tinged pink, and he coughed. “Seemed,” he began, and looked out at the park. “Seemed lovely,” he said gruffly.

Patton took a breath, took a chance, and took Virgil’s hand.

Virgil’s eyes darted to his face, and Patton smiled, felt his cheek dimple.

“Well,” he said simply, and digs out his phone, offering it to Virgil. “That sounds lovely.”

a/n: Patton’s last name, Kassipoeg, is kitten in Estonian. which I thought was a) adorable and b) a great last name. in a similar vein, Remy’s last name is sleep in Croatian.